At his side was marching his wife, affable and resigned, feeling in her simple soul a revival of love, an ephemeral Spring, born of the contact with danger.

The man, a laborer of Paris, who a few months before was singing La Internacional, demanding the abolishment of armies and the brotherhood of all mankind, was now going in quest of death.

His wife, choking back her sobs, was admiring him greatly.

Affection and commiseration made her insist upon giving him a few last counsels.

In his knapsack she had put his best handkerchiefs, the few provisions in the house and all the money.