"The deuce!" he said, "I was nearly becoming a woman." He looked at the Major, who as pale as himself, remained sitting at the table, on which his fingers were tracing strange designs. "Yes, war is a dreadful thing," he murmured. The prisoner resumed his talk. "Before this war I had never left my house. I had seen all my children born and watched their growth every day. As they grew, their minds developed; no details escaped me; neither the moment when they recognized me for the first time, nor the moment when they began to stammer their first letters. I remember everything, everything--their little limbs when still weak ... their mouths open like nestlings. Who will bring them their daily food now? Their mother? She is in danger herself. Only the other day...." He could not finish; his strength failed him. "Just as it is with us at home, my friend. The same thing exactly," said the Colonel, pacing nervously up and down the room. "What shall we do in the meantime? I think myself we might wait till to-morrow before sending him to the general. What do you say, Colonel?" "Yes, yes, to-morrow will do." "Shall he stay with us for the present?" "Yes, he can stay with us. I will tell Somione to make up a bed for him. Four children! What a story!" "And if the general has him shot, Colonel?" "Hm! 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.