ing in Parisian drawing-rooms
the capture of the redoubt of Cheverino.

The colonel passed before our company. "Well," he said to me, "you are
going to see warm work in your first action."

I gave a martial smile, and brushed my cuff, on which a bullet, which
had struck the earth at thirty paces distant, had cast a little dust.

It appeared that the Russians had discovered that their bullets did no
harm, for they replaced them by a fire of shells, which began to reach
us in the hollows where we lay. One of these, in its explosion, knocked
off my shako and killed a man beside me.

"I congratulate you," said the captain, as I picked up my shako. "You
are safe now for the day."

I knew the military superstition which believes that the axiom "_non
bis in idem_" is as applicable to the battlefield as to the courts of
justice, I replaced my shako with a swagger.

"That's a rude way to make one raise one's hat," I said, as lightly as
I could. And this wretched piece of wit was, in the circumstances,
received as excellent.

"I compliment you," said the captain. "You will command a company
to-night; for I shall not survive the day. Every time I have been
wounded the officer below me has been touched by some spent ball; and,"
he added, in a lower tone, "all the names began with P."

I laughed skeptically; most people would have done the same; but most
would also have been struck, as I was, by these prophetic words. But,
conscript though I was, I felt that I could trust my thoughts to no one,
and that it was my duty to seem always calm and bold.

At the end of half an hour the Russian fire had sensibly diminished. We
left our cover to advance on the redoubt.

Our regiment was composed of three battalions. The second had to take
the enemy in flank; the two others formed a storming party. I was in the
third.

On issuing from behind the cover, we were received by several volleys,
which did but little harm.

The whistling of the balls amazed me. "But after all," I thought, "a
battle is less terrible than I expected."

We advanced at a smart run, our musketeers in front.

All at once the Russians uttered three hurrahs--three distinct
hurrahs--and then stood silent, without firing.

"I don't like that silence," said the captain. "It bodes no good."

I began to think our people were too eager. I could not help comparing,
mentally, their shouts and clamor with the striking silence of the
enemy.

We quickly reached th