Four soldiers bore the ensign on a litter; behind them followed a
soldier from the suburb, leading a lean, foundered horse laden with
two green chests in which were the surgeon's implements. They were
expecting the doctor. The officers hurried up to the litter, and tried
to encourage and comfort the wounded lad.
"Well, brother Alánin, it'll be some time before you dance and make
merry again," said Lieutenant Rosenkranz coming up with a smile.
He probably intended these words to sustain the handsome ensign's
courage; but as could be easily seen from the coldly mournful
expression in the eyes of the latter, these words did not produce the
wished-for effect.
The captain also came up. He gazed earnestly at the wounded young
fellow, and his always cold, calm face expressed heartfelt pity.
"How is it, my dear Anatoli Ivánuitch?" said he in a tone which rang
with a deeper sympathy than I had expected from him: "we see it's as
God wills."
The wounded lad looked up; his pale face was lighted with a mournful
smile.
"Yes, I disobeyed you."
"Say rather, it was God's will," replied the captain.
The doctor, who had now arrived, took from his chest, bandages, probes,
and other instruments, and, rolling up his sleeves with a re-assuring
smile, approached the sufferer.
"So it seems they have been making a little hole through you," he said
in a tone of jesting unconcern. "Let us have a look at the place."
The ensign listened, but in the gaze which he fixed on the jolly doctor
were expressed surprise and reproachfulness which the latter did not
expect. He began to probe the wound and examine it from all sides; but
at last the sufferer, losing his patience, pushed away his hand with a
heavy groan.
"Let me be," he said in an almost inaudible voice: "it makes no
difference; I am dying." With these words he fell on his back; and five
minutes later when I joined the group gathered about him, and asked a
soldier, "How is the ensign?" I was told, "_He has gone._"