6. An Encounter

Not far from the road she saw a little lake with quiet waters and green banks, still partly covered by the morning mist; it seemed like a thin gauze veil disappearing little by little. To the right wound a narrow path, in the shade, which led pedestrians by the shortest road to Knich’s house. In the distance a white column of smoke showed the location of the house of her father’s friend.

As the daylight was driving away the last shadows of night, Maroussia became restless. The bright morning rays, always so welcome, were, this day, enemies which might betray her! In her fright she had forgotten her favorite singer. Her eyes searched for him without finding him, and she was disappointed.

Involuntarily she had come to count upon his as upon a protector. Another soldier had replaced him at her right.

“How small this child is!” said this soldier to one of his comrades, after having cast a glance on Maroussia.

“No larger than a knot on a silk thread,” answered another.

“And she doesn’t fear anything, she marches like a colonel of hussars.”

“I’ll bet she isn’t afraid of powder and ball!” continued the first.

“And she is right,” added a third. “What ball can be dangerous for a poppy-seed? Is she anything else?”

“I know these Ukrainians,” said the first, “and you can’t call them a nation of hares. Even the little girls are brave in this country. I have seen, with my own eyes, more than once, of what they are capable; the cannon roars, the musketry rattles, blood flows in streams, the earth trembles, men groan, cry, shout, cut each other’s throats and die; and they come even to the battle field, they walk over it gathering up their wounded, as if they were strolling in a garden, gathering wild poppies.”

“Hence they die by the thousands.”

“Bah! We all die in one way or another,” answered someone who could be heard without being seen, because he was completely hidden by two giant soldiers. “Yes, in one way or another; the chief thing is to die in a good way.”

Several shots were heard.

This noise of fighting drove away, in the twinkling of an eye, every other thought, every other feeling. Reflections scarcely marked out, reasoning begun, opinions half expressed, answers ready to break forth, everything stopped like a thread cut by a pair of scissors; the entire detachment listening intently examined the horizon as one man.

The officers stopped their horses. Each gave his opinion. The musketry recommenced before they agreed.

“It is on our side!” cried the younger. “There is no doubt that it is on our side that the engagement has begun. Forward! They are our soldiers who are fighting.” “Hallo! Ivan! Take the wagon to the house of this Knich, and attend to the sale of the hay. Forward!”