He who spoke yawned and his clothes rustled, evidently he was stretching himself. I leant against the side of the carriage, intending to climb up--and was instantly overcome by sleep. Somebody lifted me up from behind and laid me down, while I began pushing him away with my feet, without knowing why, and again I fell asleep, hearing as in a dream fragments of a conversation: "At the seventh verst." "Have you forgotten the lanterns?" "No, he won't go." "Give them here. Back a little. That's it." The carriages were jerking backwards and forwards, something was rattling. And gradually, because of all these sounds and because I was lying comfortably and quietly, sleep deserted me. But the doctor was sound asleep, and when I took him by the hand, it was like the hand of a corpse, heavy and limp. The train was now moving slowly and cautiously, shaking slightly, as if groping its way. The student acting as hospital orderly lighted the candle in the lantern, lighting up the walls and the black aperture of the entrance, and said angrily,-- "D--n it! Much they need us by this time. But you had better wake him, before he falls into a sound sleep, for then you won't be able to do anything with him. I know by myself." We roused the doctor and he sat up, rolling his eyes vacantly. He tried to lie down again, but we did not let him. "It would be good to have a drop of vodki now," said the student. We drank a mouthful of brandy, and all sleepiness disappeared entirely. The big black square of the door began to grow pink, then red--somewhere from behind the hills appeared an enormous mute flare of a conflagration: as if the sun was rising in the middle of the night. "It's far away. About twenty versts." "I feel cold," said the doctor, snapping his teeth. The student looked out of the door and beckoned me to come up to him. I looked out: at different points of the horizon motionless flares of similar conflagration stood out in a mute row: as if dozens of suns were rising simultaneously. And now the darkness was not so great. The distant hills were growing more densely black, sharply outlined against the sky in a broken and wavy contour, while in the foreground all was flooded with a red soft glow, silent and motionless. I glanced at the student; his face was tinged by the same red fantastic colour of blood, that had changed itself into air and light. "Are there many wounded?" asked I. He waved his hand. "A great many madmen. More so than wounded." "Real madmen?" "What others can there be?" He was looking at me, and his eyes wore the same fixed, wild expression, full of cold horror, that the soldier's had, who died of sunstroke. "Stop that," said I, turning away. "The doctor is mad also. Just look at him." The doctor had not heard. He was sitting cross-legged, like a Turk, swaying to and fro, soundlessly moving his lips and finger-tips. And in his gaze there was the same fixed, stupefied, blunt, stricken expression.