In the train at Budslav--where the staff-officers were billeted--it was known that Lieutenant Agrenev had such a single, overmastering, life-long love. A wife--the woman, the maiden who loves only once--to whom love is the most beautiful and only thing in life, will do heroic deeds to get past all the Army ordinances, the enemy's reconnaissance, and reach her beloved. To her there is but one huge heart in the world and nothing more. Lieutenant Agrenev's quarters were in a distant carriage, Number 30- 35. The Staff Officers' train stood under cover. No one was allowed to strike a light there. In the evening, after curtaining the windows with blankets, the officers gathered together in the carriage of the General Commanding the XXth Corps, to play cards and drink cognac. Someone cynically remarked that there was a close resemblance between life at the front and life in a monastery, in as much as in both the chief topic of conversation was women: there was no reason, therefore, why monks should not be sent to the front for fasting and prayer. While they were playing cards, the guard, Pan Ponyatsky, came in and spoke to the cavalry-captain Kremnev. He told him of a woman, young and very beautiful. The captain's knees began to tremble; he sat helplessly on the step of the carriage, and fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. Pan Ponyatsky warned him that he must not strike a light. In the distance could be heard the roar of cannon, like an approaching midnight storm. Kremnev had never felt such a throbbing joy as he felt now, sitting on the carriage step. Pan Ponyatsky repeated that she was a beauty, and waiting--that the captain must not delay; and led him through the dark corridor of the train. The carriage smelt of men and leather; behind the doors of the compartments echoed a sound of laughter from those who were playing cards. The two men walked half the length of the train. As they passed from one waggon to another they saw the flare of a rocket in the distance, and in its baleful green light the number of carriage--30-35--loomed in faint outline. Pan Ponyatsky unlocked the door and whispered: "Here. Only mind, be quiet." The Pan closed the door after Kremnev. It was an officer's compartment; there was a smell of perfume, and on one of the lower bunks was a woman--sleeping. Kremnev threw off his cloak and sat down by the sleeping figure. The door opened; Pan Ponyatsky thrust in his head and whispered: "Don't worry about her, sir; she is all right, only a little quieter now." Then the head disappeared. Love! Love over the seas and hills and years!