way through ruins and through death, always to kill, always to be cursed! . . .
And then, undoubtedly, he was thinking of the things he had left behind; of his home resounding with the laughter of his children, of his wife, who was waiting for him and praying to God while doing so. . . . Will he ever see her again? . . . I was sure that at this very moment he was recalling the most fugitive details, the most childish habits of his life at home . . . a rose plucked one evening, after dinner, with which he adorned the hair of his wife, the dress which she wore when he was leaving, a blue bow on the hat of his little daughter, a wooden horse, a tree, a river view, a paper knife! . . . All the memories of his joys came back to him, and with that keenness of vision which exiled persons possess, he encompassed in a single mental glance of despondency all those things by means of which he had been happy until now. . . .
The sun rose higher, rendering the plain larger, extending the distant horizon still farther. . . . I felt a compassion for this man and I loved him . . . yes I swear I loved him! . . . Well, then, how did that happen? . . . A detonation was suddenly heard, and at that very moment I caught sight of a boot in the air, of a torn piece of a military cloak, of a mane flying about wildly on the road . . . and then nothing, I heard the noise of a blow with a sabre, the heavy fall of a body, furious beats of a gallop . . . then nothing. . . . My rifle was warm, and smoke was coming out of it. . . . I let it fall to the ground. . . . Was I the victim of hallucination? . . . Clearly not. Of the large shadow which rose skyward at the middle of the road like an equestrian statue of bronze there was left but a small corpse all black, stretched out face downward, with crossed arms. . . . I recalled the poor cat that my father had killed, when with fasci-
