Curved tiled roofs....
Paris.
Carriages with elegant women in them rolling by.
People shouting, turning, pointing. Women waving lacy parasols ... the carriages galloping by faster and faster.
Oh, God!
It was pursuit.
In Paris, on the boulevards!
There they were!
Vast shadows of shaggy horses against a greenish dawn.
Nowhere to move, nowhere to escape!
What a stamping of hoofs!
What shouting!
Terrifying....
Katya sat up on the bed.
Outside the window, wheels were clattering, horses neighing.
Through the uncurtained opening in the partition she could see people coming and going, armed from head to foot.
The hut was filled with the humming of voices, the stamping of boots.
People were crowding round the table, bending over something that lay on it.
The room was filled with the sound of salty words.
It was broad daylight, and a few dim rays struggled through the windows and penetrated the blue haze of tobacco smoke.
Nobody paid any attention to Katya, who sat on the bed adjusting her shawl and tidying her hair.
Fresh troops appeared to have entered the village.
The anxious hum arising from those crowding into the hut showed that something extremely important was afoot.
A harsh, stuttering voice, with feminine overtones, cried imperiously:
"Devil take him!
Call him, the skunk!"
The voices and cries flew out of the hut into the yard and the street, where three-horse wagons, saddled horses, groups of soldiers, sailors, and armed peasants were standing about.
"Petrichenko... where's Petrichenko?
Run and get him!"
"Run yourself, you bastard! Hi, call the Colonel, brother! Where can he be, damn him!
There he is, asleep in a cart, drunk! Throw a pail of water over the devil.... Hi, you with the pail, go to the well—We can't wake the Colonel.... Hi, pals, water's no good—smear his mug with tar.... He's awake, he's awake.... Tell him the Old Man's in a rage.... He's coming, he's coming...."
The tall man in the high cap came into the hut.
He had slept so soundly that his inflamed eyes could hardly be made out on his crimson, moustached countenance. Grumbling, he pushed his way to the table, and sat down.
"What are you at, you bastard? Selling the army?
They've bought you!" stuttered the shrill, rasping voice.
"What's up?
I had a sleep, that's all," boomed out the colonel, in a voice which seemed to come from the inside of a barrel.
"I'll tell you what's up ... what's up indeed!" said a choking voice.
"You let the Germans through in your sleep, that's what's up."
"I let the Germans through?
I didn't let anyone through."
"Where are your outposts?
We marched all night, and didn't come across a single outpost. Why is the army in a trap?"
"Why shout?
How do I know where the Germans are? The steppe's so vast...."
"It's your fault, you rotter!"
"Now, now!"
"It's all your fault, I say!"
"Let go of me!"
A sudden silence fell in the hut.