'We've got to finish this business,' said the sergeant, and scratched his head. 'No one would come forward voluntarily... I have been ordered....' The soldiers looked embarrassed and drew away, looking at Yakob. He hid his head between his knees, and his thoughts dwelt on everything, sky, water, mountains, fire. His heart was breaking; a terrible sweat stood on his brows. Shots rang out. A deep groan escaped from Yakob's breast, a groan like a winter-wind. He sprang up, stood on the edge of the ditch, sighed with all the strength of his old breast and fell like a branch. Puffs of smoke rose from the ditch and from the forests. 'P.P.C.' (A LADY'S NARRATIVE) [An incident during the early part of the World War, when the Russians, retreating before the victorious Austro-German armies, destroyed everything.] BY MME RYGIER-NALKOWSKA I At the time when the bridges over the Vistula still existed, connecting by stone and iron the banks of the town now split in two, I drove to the opposite side of the river into the country to my abandoned home, for I thought I might still succeed in transporting to the town the rest of the articles I had left behind, and so preserve them from a doubtful fate. I was specially anxious to bring back the cases full of books that had been early packed and duly placed in a garret. They included one part of the library that had long ago been removed, but owing to their considerable weight they had been passed over in the hurry of the first removal. The house had been locked up and entrusted to the sure care of Martin, an old fellow bent half to the ground, who with his wife also kept an eye on the rest of the buildings, the garden, and the forest. When I arrived I found the whole of my wild, forgotten forest-world absolutely changed and transformed into one great camp. But the empty wood was moving like a living thing, like the menacing 'Birnam wood' before the eyes of Macbeth. It was full of an army, with each of their handsome big horses tied to a pine in the forest. Farther off across the roots could be seen small grey tents stretched on logs. Most of the exhausted blackened men were lying all over the ground and sleeping among the quiet beasts. Along the peaceful, silky forest paths, in a continuous line, like automobiles in the Monte Pincio park, stood small field kitchens on wheels, gunpowder boxes, and carts. At the foot of the forest, on the flowery meadow, unmown this year, were feeding pretty Ukraine cattle driven from some distant place. Quiet little sheep, not brought up in our country, were eating grass on a neighbouring hillock.