Natacha's voice was sweet, and the charm of it subtly pervasive.
The words as she uttered them seemed to have all the quality of a
prayer and there were tears in all eyes, excepting those of Michael
Korsakoff, the second orderly, whom Rouletabille appraised as a man
with a rough heart not much open to sentiment.

"Feodor Feodorovitch," said this officer, when the young girl's
voice had faded away into the blending with the last note of the
guzla, "Feodor Feodorovitch is a man and a glorious soldier who is
able to sleep in peace, because he has labored for his country and
for his Czar."

"Yes, yes. Labored well! A glorious soldier!" repeated Athanase
Georgevitch and Ivan Petrovitch. "Well may he sleep peacefully."

"Natacha sang like an angel," said Boris, the first orderly, in a
tremulous voice.

"Like an angel, Boris Nikolaievitch. But why did she speak of his
heart oppressed? I don't see that General Trebassof has a heart
oppressed, for my part." Michael Korsakoff spoke roughly as he
drained his glass.

"No, that's so, isn't it?" agreed the others.

"A young girl may wish her father a pleasant sleep, surely!" said
Matrena Petrovna, with a certain good sense. "Natacha has affected
us all, has she not, Feodor?"