A rainy night, —not in the forest lands of Lithuania, but at the Vindavo-Rybinsky station in Moscow itself. The train is like a ; voices are heard from the adjoining carriage.  
"Where do you come from?" "Yes, yes, that is so, truly! You remember the ravine there, all rocks, and the lake below; many met their there." "Let me introduce you to the Commander of the Third Division." "Give me a light, old fellow! We are back from furlough."
 
The train is going at nightfall to Rzhov, Velikiya Luki, and Polotsk. Outside on the platform the brethren are lying at ease under benches, drinking tea, and full of contentment. The gas-jets shine dimly in the rain, and behind the spattered of glass the women's eyes gleam like lamp-lights. There is a smell of naphthaline.
 
"Where is the Commandant's carriage?" "No women allowed here! Men only! We're for the front!" And there is a smell of leather, , and leggings—a smell of men.
 
"Yes, yes, you're right! Ha-ha! He is a , an liar! No,
I bet you a beauty like that isn't going headlong into an attack!"
There is a sound of laughing and a deep base voice speaking with great assurance. The third bell.
 
"Where's the Commandant's carriage?" "Well, goodbye!" "Ha-ha-ha-ha! He lies, Madam, I assure you, he lies." "Bah! those new boots they have issued have given me corns; I'll have to send them back."
 
This conversation proceeded from beneath a bench and from the steps that led to a top-compartment; the men hung up their leggings which, though marked with fresh Government labels, were none the less with . The lamps moved along the platform and disappeared into the night; the figures of women and stretcher- bearers silently crept along; a began to with one of the former; the rain fell slantingly, arrow-like, in the darkness.
 
They reached Rzhov at midnight in the train; the men climbed out of the windows for tea; then clambered in again with their rifles; the carriages with the of canteens. It was raining heavily and there was a sound of splashing water. The brethren in the corridors bitterly as they inspected papers. Under the benches there was conversation, and also garbage.
 
Then morning with its rose-coloured clouds: the sky had completely cleared; rain-drops fell from the trees; it was bright and . Velikiya Luki, Lovat; at the station were soldiers, not a single woman.
 
The train the enemy's reconnaissance. Soldiers, soldiers, soldiers!—rifles, rifles!—canteens:—the brethren! It is no longer Great Russia; around are pine woods, hills, lakes, and the land is everywhere strewn with cobble-stones and pebbles—- whilst at every little station from under fir-trees creep silent, sombre figures, barefooted and wearing sheep-skin coats and caps—in the summer. It is Lithuania.
 
The enemy's reconnaissance is a diversion: otherwise the day is long and dreary—all routine like a festival; already one knows the detachment, the number of wounded, the engagements with the enemy. Many had alighted from the train at Velikiya Luki, and nobody had got in. We are quiet and idle all day long.
 
Then towards night we reach Polotsk—the white walls of the are left behind; we come to the Dvina, and the train over a bridge. Now we journey by night only, without a time-table or lights, and again under a rain. The train stops without whistling and as silently starts again. Around us all is still, as in October; the country-side is by night. Men alight at each stop after Polotsk; no one sits down again; and at every stop thirty miles of narrow railway lead to the trenches. What monotony after Moscow! after the and of an endless day! There is the faintest of dawn, and the eastern sky looks like a huge green bottle.
 
"Get up—we have arrived!"
 
Budslav station; the roof is by aeroplane bombs. Soldiers sleep side by side in a little garden on asphalt steps beneath crocuses. A Jew opens his bookstall on the arrival of the train: he sells books by Chirikov, Von Vizin, and Verbitskaya. And from the distance, with strange distinctness, comes a sound like clapping.
 
"What is that?" "Must be the heavy ." "Where is the
Commandant?" "The Commandant is asleep!…"
A week has passed by in the trenches, and another week has commenced. The of the first few days is over; now all is in order. In a corner of a meadow, a little way from the front, hangs a man's body; the head by degrees has become from the trunk. But I do not............