Oh! Oh!" shrieked a man from the middle of whose back Nikitin, probing with his finger, was extracting a bullet.

The candles flared, the ladies from "Carmen" wavered on the marble steps, the high cracked voice of the soldier continued its song.

I stood there with Trenchard and Andrey Vassilievitch.

Then we turned away.
"We're not wanted to-night," I said.

"We'd better get out of the way and sleep somewhere.