"What is it? Make short work of it!"
The enemy's cannon are already thundering upon the attacking column.
"Sire," says the officer, "Duchess Sophie Narishkin has just delivered up her noble soul to Eternity."
The Czar instinctively put his hand to his heart. It was there that he was struck! And yet the cannon were only firing blank ammunition.
The sword he was wielding sank in one hand—the Czar covered his face with the other.
"It is the punishment for my faults!" he uttered, in a faltering voice.
What a change had come over the brilliant hero—the semi-god! In his place sat a bowed figure; a man bowed down to the earth by fate.
However deafening the hurrahs—however much the earth may vibrate under the tramp of warlike horses and horsemen—their leader's soul is fettered by the words "Sophie is dead."
Miloradovics, the general in command, sent to ask instructions from the Imperial Commander-in-Chief for the next movement.
"Call them back!" was the answer. "Send the troops back to barracks. The review is over."