Shulgovich now took breath for two or three seconds, after which he once more gave vent to his voice of thunder in the command-- "First half company--forward--march!" Rolling heavily through the dense ranks across the level plain came Osadchi's dull roar-- "First half company, dress to the right--forward--march!" Away in the front was heard the merry rattle of drums. Seen from the rear, the column resembled a forest of bayonets which often enough waved backwards and forwards. "Second half company to the middle!" Romashov recognized Artschakovski's squeaky falsetto. A new line of bayonets assumed a leaning position and departed. The thunder of the drums grew more and more faint, and was just about to sink down, as it were, and be absorbed in the ground, when suddenly the last sounds of drum-beats were dispersed by the rhythmically jubilant, irresistible waves of music from the wind instruments. The sleepy marching time of the companies filing past at once caught fire and life; languid eyes and greyish cheeks regained their colour, and tired muscles were once more braced to save the honour of the regiment. The half companies proceeded to march, one after the other, and at every step the soldiers' torpid spirits were revived under the influence of the band's cheerful strains. The 1st Battalion's last company had already got some distance when, lo! Lieutenant-Colonel Liech advanced gently on his thin, raven-black horse, followed close at his heels by Olisár. Both had their sabres ready for the salute, with their sabre-hilts' knots dangling on a level with their mouths. Soon Stelikovski's quiet, nonchalant command was heard. High above the bayonets, the standard lorded on its long pole, and it was now the 6th Company's turn to march. Captain Sliva stepped to the front and inspected his men by a glance from his pale, prominent, fishy eyes. With his miserable shrunken figure stooping, and his long arms, he had a striking resemblance to an ugly old monkey. "F-irst half company--forward!" With a light and elegant step Romashov hurried to his place right in front of the second half company's pivot. A blissful, intoxicating feeling of pride came over him whilst he allowed his glance to glide quickly over the first row of his division. "The old swashbuckler viewed with an eagle's eyes the brave band of veterans," he declaimed silently, after which in a prolonged sing-song he gave the order-- "Second half company--forward!" "One, two," Romashov counted softly to himself, marking time with a soft stamping on the spot. Pronouncing the word at the right moment was of infinite importance, as upon it depended the exact carrying out of the inexorable command that the half company should begin marching with the proper foot, i.e., with the same foot as the preceding division, "left, right; left, right." At last a start was made. With head erect, and beaming with a smile of boundless happiness, he cried in a loud, resonant voice-- "March!"