" "What do you want, your honor?" asked an artilleryman, standing close by, who heard him muttering.

"Nothing... only a shell..." he answered.

"Come along, our Matvevna!" he said to himself.

" Matvevna"* was the name his fancy gave to the farthest gun of the battery, which was large and of an old pattern.

The French swarming round their guns seemed to him like ants.