t is not true, this book has no value
whatever.

We were warned by the soldier who guarded us not to walk in a group
and we stole now, beneath a garden-wall, white under the moon, in a
long line. I could hear Trenchard behind me stumbling over the stones
and ruts, walking as he always did with little jerks, as though his
legs were beyond his control. We came then on to the high road, which
was so white and clear in the moonlight that it seemed as though the
whole Austrian army must instantly whisper to themselves: "Ah, there
they are!" and fire. The ditch to our right, as far as I could see,
was lined with soldiers, hidden by the hedge behind them, their rifles
just pointing on to the white surface of the land. Our guide asked
them their division and was answered in a whisper. The soldiers were
ghosts: there was no one, save ourselves, alive in the whole world....

Then a little incident occurred. I was walking in the rear of our
wagons that I might see that all were there. I felt a touch on my arm
and found Andrey Vassilievitch standing in the middle of the road. His
face, staring at me as though I were a stranger, expressed desperate
determination.

"Come on," I said. "We've no time to waste."

"I'm not coming," he whispered back. His voice was breathless as
though he had been running.

"Nonsense," I answered roughly, and I put my hand on his arm. His body
trembled in jerks and starts.

"It's madness ... this road ... the moon.... Of course they'll
fire.... We'll all be killed. But it isn't ... it isn't ... I can't
move...."

"You _must_ move.... Come, Andrey Vassilievitch, you've been brave
enough all day. There's no danger, I tell you. See how quiet
everything is. You _must_...."

"I can't.... It's nothing ... nothing to do with me.... It's awful all
day--and now this!"

I thought of Marie Ivanovna early in the morning. I looked down the
road and saw that the wagons were slowly moving into the distant
shadows.

"You _must_ come," I repeated. "We can't leave you here. Don't think
of yourself. And nothing can touch you--nothing, I tell you."

"I'll go back, I must. I can't go on."

"Go back? How can you? Where to? You can't go back to the trench. We
shan't know where to find you." A furious anger seized me; I caught
his arm. "I'll leave you, if you like. There are other things more
important."

I move away from him. He looked down the long road, looked back.

"Oh, I can't ... I can't," he repeated.