The lust of fighting was on him now.
It was not a question of country or of race, but only a man crowding the power of old instincts into the last moments of his life.

The vigour and valour of a reconquered youth seemed to inspire him; he felt as he did when a mere boy fighting on the Danube.

His blood rioted in his veins; his eyes flashed.

He lifted the flask of whiskey and gulped down great mouthfuls of it, and fired again and again, laughing madly.
"Let them come on, let them come on," he cried.

"By God, I'll settle them!" The frenzy of war possessed him.