Suddenly something stirred, beside him. He was frightfully startled. It
was a little bird which had perched on a branch and was moving the dead
leaves. For almost an hour Walter Schnaffs' heart beat loud and rapidly.

Night fell, filling the ravine with its shadows. The soldier began to
think. What was he to do? What was to become of him? Should he rejoin the
army? But how? By what road? And he began over again the horrible life of
anguish, of terror, of fatigue and suffering that he had led since the
commencement of the war. No! He no longer had the courage! He would not
have the energy necessary to endure long marches and to face the dangers
to which one was exposed at every moment.

But what should he do? He could not stay in this ravine in concealment
until the end of hostilities. No, indeed! If it were not for having to
eat, this prospect would not have daunted him greatly. But he had to eat,
to eat every day.

And here he was, alone, armed and in uniform, on the enemy's territory,
far from those who would protect him. A shiver ran over him.

All at once he thought: "If I were only a prisoner!" And his heart
quivered with a longing, an intense desire to be taken prisoner by the
French. A prisoner, he would be saved, fed, housed, sheltered from
bullets and swords, without any apprehension whatever, in a good,
well-kept prison. A prisoner! What a dream:

His resolution was formed at once.

"I will constitute myself a prisoner."