"I ask you to avenge me. How hot I am! Ah! Ah! An immense cemetery. They dance. The earth is freshly broken up at the sound of a violin. Some bears are dancing. The good God is looking at them from heaven through a little skylight. He strokes his mustache, and marks the measure."
"Ivas," cried Jacob, "be calm, I beg of you."
"Yes, I remember there were millions. We were a handful, and they attacked us, but we fought them. We did our duty! All dead! Requiescant! Is this death? Provided my soul does not enter into the body of a Muscovite, I do not care."
Jacob tried, without success, to make Ivas realize his situation. As soon as the dying man became more conscious, the pain of his wound was so extreme that, to prevent himself from crying aloud, he buried his head in the straw; then the delirium returned. It was a heartrending spectacle.
"Do you wish a priest?" asked the Jew.
"A priest? There was one in our band. Brave frater! A ball in his head, he is dead. A priest for me? What good? I have not confessed since my mother was no longer here to make me kneel and pray. A priest! I want none. It would do no good, for God has gone on a visit to St. Petersburg, and no one knows when he will return. They do not confess the dead, and I am already dead, although I can still speak."
Then he continued his raving.
"Do you think they could have taken me alive? Never! Tell Marion that I had one of the shirts on, and the handkerchief around my neck, and also the medal of Notre Dame de Czestokowa, but the mother of God did not aid me! They have killed me!"
Jacob tried to revive him with some cologne that he had in a little flask. He bathed his forehead and temples, and poured several drops in his mouth; but it was useless.
"You perfume me," said the poor boy. "I smell it. I cannot go to the ball, I cannot dance."