Poor Volodia, pursued by the thought that he was a coward, saw in each look, in each word, the scorn he must inspire; and it seemed to him that his chief had already discovered his sad secret, and that he was jeering at him. Then he replied in confusion that his things were at Grafskaia, and that his brother would send them to him the following day. “Where shall we put up the ensign?” the lieutenant-colonel asked the sergeant-major, without listening to the young man’s answer. “The ensign?” repeated the sergeant-major. A rapid glance thrown on Volodia, and which seemed to say, “What sort of an ensign is that?” finished the disconcerting of the latter. “Down there, your Excellency, with the second-captain. Since the captain is in the bastion his bed is empty!” “Will that do for you while you are waiting?” asked the commander of the battery. “You must be tired, I think. To-morrow it can be more conveniently arranged for you.” Volodia arose and saluted. “Will you have some tea?” added his superior officer. “The samovar can be heated.” Volodia, who had already reached the door, turned around, saluted again, and went out. The lieutenant-colonel’s servant conducted him down-stairs, and showed him into a bare and dirty room where different broken things were thrown aside as rubbish, and in which, in a corner, a man in a red shirt, whom Volodia took for a soldier, was sleeping on an iron bed without sheets or coverlid, wrapped in his overcoat. “Peter Nikolaïevitch”--and the servant touched the sleeper’s shoulder--“get up; the ensign is going to sleep here. It’s Vlang, our yunker,” he added, turning to Volodia. “Oh, don’t disturb yourself, I beg,” cried the latter, seeing the yunker, a tall and robust young man, with a fine face, but one entirely devoid of intelligence, rise, throw his overcoat over his shoulders, and drowsily go away, murmuring, “That’s nothing; I will go and sleep in the yard.” XIII. Left alone with his thoughts, Volodia at first felt a return of the terror caused by the trouble which agitated his soul. Counting upon sleep to be able to cease thinking of his surroundings and to forget himself, he blew out his candle and lay down, covering himself all up with his overcoat, even his head, for he had kept his fear of darkness since his childhood. But suddenly the idea came to him that a shell might fall through the roof and kill him. He listened. The commander of the battery was walking up and down over his head.