d jested with Death. Thus, only on Tuesday morning,
when all together they had attached explosive projectiles to their
belts, which several hours later were to tear them into pieces, Tanya
Kovalchuk's hands had trembled with nervousness, and it had become
necessary to put her aside, while Vasily jested, made merry, turned
about, and was even so reckless that Werner had said sternly:

"You must not be too familiar with Death."

What was he afraid of now? But this incomprehensible fear was so foreign
to Musya's soul that she ceased searching for the cause of it--and
suddenly she was seized with a desperate desire to see Seryozha Golovin,
to laugh with him. She meditated a little while, and then an even more
desperate desire came over her to see Werner and to convince him of
something. And imagining to herself that Werner was in the next cell,
driving his heels into the ground with his distinct, measured steps,
Musya spoke, as if addressing him:

"No, Werner, my dear; it is all nonsense; it isn't at all important
whether or not you are killed. You are a sensible man, but you seem to
be playing chess, and that by taking one figure after another the game
is won. The important thing, Werner, is that we ourselves are ready
to die. Do you understand? What do those people think? That there is
nothing more terrible than death. They themselves have invented Death,
they are themselves afraid of it, and they try to frighten us with it.
I should like to do this--I should like to go out alone before a whole
regiment of soldiers and fire upon them with a revolver. It would not
matter that I would be alone, while they would be thousands, or that I
might not kill any of them. It is that which is important--that they are
thousands. When thousands kill one, it means that the one has conquered.
That is true, Werner, my dear...."

But this, too, became so clear to her that she did not feel like arguing
further--Werner must understand it himself. Perhaps her mind simply did
not want to stop at one thought--just as a bird that soars with ease,
which sees endless horizons, and to which all space, all the depth, all
the joy of the soft and caressing azure are accessible. The bell of
the clock rang unceasingly, disturbing the deep silence. And into this
harmonious, remote, beautiful sound the thoughts of the people flowed,
and also began to ring for her; and the smoothly gliding images turned
into music. It was just as if, on a quiet, dark nig