MITRITCH. Why, in their own house; that's where! We came to a village, the soldiers began hunting about in the house, when suddenly there's that same little girl lying on the floor, flat on her stomach. We were going to give her a knock on the head, but all at once I felt that sorry, that I took her up in my arms; but no, she wouldn't let me! Made herself so heavy, quite a hundredweight, and caught hold where she could with her hands, so that one couldn't get them off! Well, so I began stroking her head. It was so bristly,--just like a hedgehog! So I stroked and stroked, and she quieted down at last. I soaked a bit of rusk and gave it her. She understood that, and began nibbling. What were we to do with her? We took her; took her, and began feeding and feeding her, and she got so used to us that we took her with us on the march, and so she went about with us. Ah, she was a fine girl! NAN. Yes, and not baptized? MITRITCH. Who can tell! They used to say, not altogether. 'Cos why, those people weren't our own. NAN. Germans? MITRITCH. What an idea! Germans! Not Germans, but Asiatics. They are just the same as Jews, but still not Jews. Polish, yet Asiatics. Curls ... or, Curdlys is their name.... I've forgotten what it is![8] We called the girl Sashka. She was a fine girl, Sashka was! There now, I've forgotten everything I used to know! But that girl--the deuce take her--seems to be before my eyes now! Out of all my time of service, I remember how they flogged me, and I remember that girl. That's all I remember! She'd hang round one's neck, and one 'ud carry her so. That was a girl,--if you wanted a better you'd not find one! We gave her away afterwards. The captain's wife took her to bring up as her daughter. So--she was all right! How sorry the soldiers were to let her go! NAN. There now, daddy, and I remember when father was dying,--you were not living with us then. Well, he called Nikita and says, "Forgive me, Nikita!" he says, and begins to cry. (Sighs.) That also felt very sad! MITRITCH. Yes; there now, so it is.... NAN. Daddy! Daddy, I say! There they are again, making a noise in the cellar! Oh gracious heavens! Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh, daddy! They'll do something to it! They'll make away with it, and it's so little! Oh, oh! [Covers up her head and cries. MITRITCH (listening). Really they're up to some villainy, blow them to shivers! Oh, these women are vile creatures! One can't say much for men either; but women!... They are like wild beasts, and stick at nothing! NAN (rising). Daddy; I say, daddy! MITRITCH. Well, what now? NAN. The other day a traveller stayed the night; he said that when an infant died its soul goes up straight to heaven. Is that true? MITRITCH. Who can tell? I suppose so. Well? NAN. Oh, it would be best if I died too. [Whimpers. MITRITCH. Then you'd be off the list! NAN. Up to ten one's an infant, and maybe one's soul would go to God. Else one's sure to go to the bad!