“Why do that? rather let’s go together,” said Volodia. “I will go to the bastion with you; won’t that be the same thing? One must get accustomed to it. If you go there, why can’t I go?”
“You would do better not to go.”
“Let me go—please do. At least I will see what it is—”
“I advise you not to go there; but, nevertheless—”
The cloudless sky was sombre, the stars, and the flashes of the cannon, and the bombs flying in space, shone in the darkness. The tête du pont and the great white pile of the battery came out sharply in the dark night. Every instant reports, explosions, shook the air, together or separately, ever louder, ever more distinct. The mournful murmur of the waves played an accompaniment to this incessant roll. A fresh breeze filled with moisture blew from the sea. The brothers approached the bridge. A soldier awkwardly shouldered arms and shouted,
“Who comes there?”
“A soldier.”
“You can’t pass.”
“Impossible—we must pass!”
“Ask the officer.”