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"It is very strange, mon Monsieur Prince," said the staff

officer. (He remembered that in French there is some peculiar way

of addressing a prince, but could not get it quite right.)

By this time they were all approaching Tushin's battery, and a

ball struck the ground in front of them.

"What's that that has fallen?" asked the accountant with a naive

smile.

"A French pancake," answered Zherkov.

"So that's what they hit with?" asked the accountant. "How

awful!"

He seemed to swell with satisfaction. He had hardly finished

speaking when they again heard an unexpectedly violent whistling

which suddenly ended with a thud into something soft... f-f-flop!

and a Cossack, riding a little to their right and behind the

accountant, crashed to earth with his horse. Zherkov and the

staff officer bent over their saddles and turned their horses

away. The accountant stopped, facing the Cossack, and examined

him with attentive curiosity. The Cossack was dead, but the horse

still struggled.