"That was really nothing remarkable," he exclaimed in a tone of assumed contempt. "At home in the Caucasus my old father, although he is over sixty-six, could cut off a horse's head in a trice. You see, my children, everything can be acquired by practice and perseverance. At my home we practise on bundles of fagots tightly twisted together, or we try to cut through a water-spout without the least splash being noticeable. Well, Lbov, it's your turn now." At that very moment, however, Bobuilev, the "non-com.," rushed up to Viätkin, with terror depicted on every feature. "Your Honour! The Commander of the regiment is here." "Attention!" cried Captain Sliva's sharp voice from the other side of the parade-ground. The officers hastily made their way to their respective detachments. A large open carriage slowly approached the avenue and stopped at the parade-ground. Out of it stepped the Commander with great trouble and agony amidst a loud moaning and groaning from the side of the poor carriage. The Commander was followed by his Adjutant, Staff-Captain Federovski, a tall, slim officer of smart appearance. "Good day, 7th Company," was his greeting in a careless, indistinct voice. An ear-splitting chorus of soldiers, dispersed over the whole extent of the ground, replied instantly: "God preserve your Excellency!" The officers touched their caps. "Proceed with the drill," ordered the Commander, as he went up to the nearest platoon. Colonel Shulgovich was evidently not in a good humour. He wandered about the platoons, growling and swearing, all the while repeatedly trying to worry the life out of the unhappy recruits by catch-questions from the "Military Regulations." Time after time he was heard to reel out the most awful strings of insults and threats, and in this he displayed an inventive power and mastery that could hardly be surpassed. The soldiers stood before him, transfixed with terror, stiff, motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, and, as it were, hypnotized by the incessant, steadfast glances, as hard as marble, from those senile, colourless, severe eyes. Colonel Shulgovich, although much troubled with fatness and advanced in years, nevertheless still contrived to carry his huge, imposing figure. His broad, fleshy face, with its bloated cheeks and deeply receding forehead, was surrounded below by a thick, silvery, pointed beard, whereby the great head came very closely to resemble an awe-inspiring rhomboid. The eyebrows were grey, bushy, and threatening. He always spoke in a subdued tone, but his powerful voice--to which alone he owed his comparatively rapid promotion--was heard all the same as far as the most distant point of the parade-ground, nay! even out on the highroad. "Who are you?" asked the Colonel, suddenly halting in front of a young soldier named Sharafutdinov, who was on sentry duty near the gymnastic apparatus.