Their feet beat time with measured steps upon the frozen ground: One--two! One--two! She could even hear at times the leather of the boots creaking, how suddenly some one's foot slipped and immediately recovered its steps.

And the music came ever nearer--it was an entirely unfamiliar but a very loud and spirited holiday march.

Evidently there was some sort of celebration in the fortress.
Now the band came up alongside of her window and the cell was filled with merry, rhythmic, harmoniously blended sounds.

One large brass trumpet brayed harshly out of tune, now too late, now comically running ahead--Musya could almost see the little soldier playing it, a great expression of earnestness on his face--and she laughed.
Then everything moved away.

The footsteps died out--One--two! One--two! At a distance the music sounded still more beautiful and cheerful.