I saw in our wagon, their faces lighted by the fire, Semyonov and
Marie Ivanovna. Semyonov knelt on the wooden barrier of the cart, his
figure outlined square and strong. She was kneeling behind him, her
hands on his shoulders. Her face was exultant, victorious. She seemed
to me the inspirer of that scene, to have created it, to hold it now
with the authority of her gaze.
Behind her Trenchard was in shadow.
We were on the hill-top, the cannon, as it seemed, on every side of
us. We hung for a moment so, the sky flaming up to our feet. Then we
had fallen down between the woods, every step muffling the sounds.
Everything was dark as though a curtain had been dropped.
Semyonov turned round to me.
"Well," he said, "there's your battle.... You've been in the thick of
it to-day!"
I saw his eyes turned to Marie Ivanovna as though already he possessed
her.
I was suddenly tired, disappointed, exhausted.
"We've not been in the thick of it," I answered. "We have missed
it--all day we have missed it!"
I tried to settle down in my wagon.
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