Hup, two, three, four!' roared Myshlaevsky as the file mounted the staircase with the ponderous tread of Tsar Alexander's foot-soldiers, past the man who beat Napoleon, the battery wheeled to the right into the vast assembly hall. The singing broke off as they formed into an open square several ranks deep, bayonets clicking.
A pale, whitish twilight reigned in the hall and the portraits of the last tsars, still draped, peered down faint and corpse-like through the cloth.
Studzinsky about-faced and looked at his wrist-watch.
At that moment a cadet ran in and whispered something to him.
The nearby ranks could hear the words '. . . regimental commander.'
Studzinsky signalled to the officers, who began dressing the tanks.
Studzinsky went out into the corridor towards the commanding officer.
Turning and glancing at Tsar Alexander, his spurs ringing, Colonel Malyshev mounted the staircase towards the entrance to the assembly hall.
His curved Caucasian sabre with its cherry-red sword-knot bumped against his left hip.
He wore a black parade-dress service cap and a long greatcoat with a large slit up the back.
He looked worried.
Studzinsky marched rapidly up to him, halted and saluted.
Malyshev asked him:
'Have they all got uniforms?'
'Yes, sir.
All orders carried out.'
'Well, what are they like?'
'They'll fight.
But they're completely inexperienced.
For a hundred and twenty cadets there are eighty students who have never handled a rifle.'
A shadow crossed Malyshev's face, but he said nothing.
'Thank God, though, we've managed to get some good officers,' Studzinsky went on, 'especially that new one, Myshlaevsky.
We'll make out somehow.'
'I see. Thank you, captain.
Now: as soon as I have inspected the battery I want you to send them home with orders to report back here in time to be on parade at seven o'clock tomorrow morning, except for the officers and a guard detachment of sixty of the best and most experienced cadets, who will mount guard over the guns, the armory and the buildings.'
Paralysed with amazement, Studzinsky glared at the colonel in the most insubordinate fashion.
His mouth dropped open.
'But sir . . .' - in his excitement Studzinsky's Polish accent became more pronounced -'. . . if you'll allow me to say so, sir, that's impossible.
The only way of keeping this battery in any state of military efficiency is to keep the men here overnight.'
Instantly the colonel demonstrated an unsuspected capacity for losing his temper on the grandest scale.
His neck and cheeks turned a deep red and his eyes flashed.
'Captain', he said in a furious voice, 'if you talk to me like that again I will have an official notice published that you no longer rank as a staff-captain but as an instructor who regards it as his job to lecture senior officers. This will be most unfortunate, because I thought that in you I had an experienced executive officer and not a civilian professor.
Kindly understand that I am in no need of lectures, and when I want your advice I shall ask for it.
Otherwise it is your duty to listen, to take note - and then to carry out what I say!'
The two men stared at each other.
Studzinsky's face and neck turned the color of a hot samovar and his lips trembled.
In a grating voice he forced himself to say:
'Very good, colonel.'
'Now do what you're told.
Send them home.
Tell them to get a good night's sleep; send them home unarmed, with orders to report back here by seven o'clock tomorrow morning.
Send them home - and what's more, make sure they go in small parties, not whole troops at a time, and without their shoulder-straps, so that they don't attract any unwelcome attention from undesirable elements.'
A ray of comprehension passed across Studzinsky's expression and his resentment subsided.
'Very good, sir.'
The colonel's tone altered completely.
'My dear Studzinsky, you and I have known each other for some time and I know perfectly well that you are a most experienced regimental officer.
And I'm sure you know me well enough not to be offended.
In any case, taking offense is a luxury we can hardly afford at the moment.
I apologise for showing you the rough side of my tongue - please forget it; I think you rather forgot yourself, too. . . .'
Studzinsky blushed again.