Well, yes, kind of, but Feuilly is smiling a fond and crooked smile at him. "It's--" He'd better just say it. "I used to think, when I was--was very young--that if my parents could write, they would have, you know--left something." His face is red and he's staring at the wagging tip of Lady's tail. "Even just a, a name they wanted me to be called. It--if you've never met your parents, it's--you like to, to think--to imagine--that they think about you sometimes. --But I should have realized that you--the army was outnumbered, and the men were sick, that was a clear duty."