! yes.... It all depends on the mood he is in. One cannot talk about
children with the general."

"War is a horrible thing, Colonel. Is it not?"

"Yes, it is, if you want my opinion. But duty, you know, and the uniform
and the military oath. I'd as soon they all went to the devil. Don't let
us think of it any more till to-morrow. It gives me a feeling of
constriction at the heart. Ask him if he will take wine. We will have
supper together."

III. DREAMS

The prisoner's bed was placed in the same room with the Colonel and the
Major.

Soon all was silent. From time to time came the noise of single
cannon-shots, deadened by the fog. It was the Turks who would not be
quiet, but continued to fire at the Russians. But as the latter did not
reply, they also finally ceased. Night now reigned alone over the world,
wrapping everything in darkness and dampness--both the snow-covered
summits of the mountains and their peaceable defiles covered with
Turkish villages abandoned by their inhabitants as though a plague had
been raging.

In the valley below lay thousands of corpses with fixed eyes widely open
gazing at the dark mysterious heavens. Their intent gaze seemed to wish
to penetrate the darkness as though obstinately asking heaven whither
had passed that something which had animated their bodies that very
morning, and what had become of the last sigh which escaped from their
bayonet-pierced or bullet-riddled breasts. But the dark inaccessible sky
regarded them sadly from above, letting fall now and then cold tears on
these disfigured faces.

The Major could not get to sleep. He turned and turned again under the
felt cloak which served him as a blanket, throwing it aside and pulling
it over himself again, recommencing for the tenth time to read a
newspaper and letting it fall, casting furtive glances at the
slumbering Turk, and hearing the vague words which escaped him in his
uneasy sleep. Weary with his restlessness, the Major tried to oblige
himself to think of something else, but his thoughts always returned to
the same point.

Even when he had finally closed his eyes and his breath had become more
equal, when night had cast its soft spell over the room, his thoughts
continued without change to work in the same direction. He dreamt of
children, not the prisoner's unfortunate brats, but of his own
surrounded by all the care of a mother and sheltered from danger in the
midst of the profound quiet of the steppe whic