“I’m off,” replied Praskoukine, and he departed on the run.
The cannonade diminished in violence.
IX.
“Are you the second battalion of the regiment from M——?” asked Praskoukine of a soldier who was carrying sand-bags.
“Yes.”
“Where is the commander?”
Mikhaïloff, supposing that the captain of the company was wanted, came out of his pit, raised his hand to his cap, and approached Praskoukine, whom he took for a commanding officer.
“The general orders you—you must—you must retire at once—without any noise—to the rear; that is, to the reserve force,” said Praskoukine, stealthily looking in the direction of the enemy’s fire.
Having recognized his comrade, and having gained an idea of the manœuvre, Mikhaïloff dropped his hand and gave the order to the soldiers. They took their muskets, put on their coats, and marched off.
He who has never felt it cannot appreciate the joy which a man experiences at leaving, after three hours of bombardment, a place as dangerous as the quarters were. During these three hours Mikhaïloff, who, not without reason, was thinking of death as an inevitable thing, had the time to get accustomed to the notion that he would surely be killed, and that he no longer belonged to the living world. In spite of that, it was by a violent effort that he kept from running when he came out of the quarters at the head of his company, side by side with Praskoukine.