"That's a rude way to make one raise one's hat," I said, as lightly as I could. And this wretched piece of wit was, in the circumstances, received as excellent.
"I compliment you," said the captain. "You will command a company to-night; for I shall not survive the day. Every time I have been wounded the officer below me has been touched by some spent ball; and," he added, in a lower tone, "all the names began with P."
I laughed skeptically; most people would have done the same; but most would also have been struck, as I was, by these prophetic words. But, conscript though I was, I felt that I could trust my thoughts to no one, and that it was my duty to seem always calm and bold.
At the end of half an hour the Russian fire had sensibly diminished. We left our cover to advance on the redoubt.
Our regiment was composed of three battalions. The second had to take the enemy in flank; the two others formed a storming party. I was in the third.
On issuing from behind the cover, we were received by several volleys, which did but little harm.
The whistling of the balls amazed me. "But after all," I thought, "a battle is less terrible than I expected."
We advanced at a smart run, our musketeers in front.
All at once the Russians uttered three hurrahs—three distinct hurrahs—and then stood silent, without firing.
"I don't like that silence," said the captain. "It bodes no good."