eady when, quite suddenly, the Austrians had
begun to fire. Bullets had passed thickly overhead. Marie Ivanovna had
seemed quite fearless, and laughing, had stepped, for a moment, from
behind the shelter to see whether the soldiers were coming for their
tea. She was struck instantly; she gave a sharp little cry and fell.
They rushed to her side, but death had been instantaneous. She had
been struck in the heart.... There was nothing to be done.... The
soldiers seemed to feel it very deeply, and one of them, a little
round fellow with a merry face whom I knew well, turned away from me
and began to cry, with his hand to his eyes.

Semyonov was standing in the room with exactly that same dead burning
expression in his eyes. His mouth was set severely, his legs apart,
his hands at his sides.

"A terrible misfortune," I heard the stout doctor say.

Semyonov looked at him gravely.

"Thank you very much for your kindness," he said courteously. Then, by
a common instinct, without any spoken word between us, we all went
from the room, leaving Semyonov alone there.

I remember very little of our return to Mittoevo. We borrowed a cart
upon which we laid the body. I sat in the trap with Semyonov. I was, I
remember, afraid lest he should suddenly go off his head. It seemed
quite a possible thing then, he was so quiet, so motionless, scarcely
breathing. I concentrated all my thought upon this. I had my hand upon
his arm and I remember that it relieved me in some way to feel it so
thick and strong beneath his sleeve. He did not look at me once.

I do not know what my thoughts were, a confused incoherent medley of
nonsense. I did not think of Marie Ivanovna at all. I repeated again
and again to myself, in the silly, insane way that one does under the
shock of some trouble, the words of the poem that I had read that
afternoon:

_Robinson Crusoe passa par Amsterdam
(Je crois du moins qu'il y passa) en revenant
De l'ile ombreuse et verte--ombreuse et verte--ombreuse et verte...._

It was dark, or at any rate, it seemed to me dark. The weather was
still and close; every sound echoed abominably through the silence.
When we arrived at Mittoevo I suddenly thought of Trenchard. I had
utterly forgotten him until that moment. I got out of the trap and
when Semyonov climbed out he put his hand on my arm. I don't know why
but that touched me so deeply and sharply that I felt, suddenly, as
though in another instant I should lo