Whether the man dies or lives, whether his wound be mortal or no, you will never hear.

And so you advance, till gradually you begin to feel, rather than to see, that the blues are retreating from you.

You hear unarmed men asking for quarter, begging for their lives, and the sound of entreaty again softens your heart; you think of sparing life, instead of taking it; you embrace your friends as you meet them here and there; you laugh and sing as you feel that you have done your best and have conquered; and when you once more become sufficiently calm to be aware what you are yourself doing, you find that you have a sword in your hand, or a huge pistol; you know not from whom you took them, or where you got them, or in what manner you have used them.

How can a man say then, whom he has killed in battle, or whether he has killed any man?
I do not recollect that I ever fired a shot at Varin myself, and yet my musket was discharged and the pan was up.

I will not say that I ever killed a man; but I will say that I never struck a man who asked for mercy, or fired a shot even on a republican, who had thrown down his arms." Henri's voice was now heard in the hall, loudly calling for Jacques, and away he ran to join his master, as he finished his history.
"It makes my blood run cold," said the housekeeper, "to think of such horrid things." "Chapeau describes it very well, though," said the confidential maid; "I'm sure he has seen it all himself.