the horizon motionless flares of similar conflagration stood out in a mute row: as if dozens of suns were rising simultaneously. And now the darkness was not so great. The distant hills were growing more densely black, sharply outlined against the sky in a broken and wavy contour, while in the foreground all was flooded with a red soft glow, silent and motionless. I glanced at the student; his face was tinged by the same red fantastic color of blood, that had changed itself into air and light.
"Are there many wounded?" asked I.
He waved his hand.
"A great many madmen. More so than wounded."
"Real madmen?"
"What others can there be?"
He was looking at me, and his eyes wore the same fixed, wild expression, full of cold horror, that the soldier's had, who died of sunstroke.
"Stop that," said I, turning away.
"The doctor is mad also. Just look at him."
The doctor had not heard. He was sitting cross-legged, like a Turk, swaying to and fro, soundlessly moving his lips and finger-tips. And in his gaze there was the same fixed, stupefied, blunt, stricken expression.
"I feel cold," said he, and smiled.
"Hang you all!" cried I, moving away into a corner of the carriage. "What did you call me up for?"
Nobody answered. The student stood gazing out at the mute spreading glow, and the back of his head with its curly hair was youthful; and when I looked at him, I do not know
