And now, suddenly, she seemed to hear clearly and distinctly the
sounds of military music. In astonishment, she opened her eyes, lifted
her head-outside the window was black night, and the clock was
striking. "Again," she thought calmly, and closed her eyes. And as
soon as she did so the music resounded anew. She could hear distinctly
how the soldiers, a whole regiment, were coming from behind the corner
of the fortress, on the right, and now they were passing her window.
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. The
trumpet resounded now and then with its merry, loud brass voice, out
of tune,-and then everything died away. And the clock on the tower
struck again, slowly, mournfully, hardly stirring the silence.

"They are gone!" thought Musya, with a feeling of slight sadness. She
felt sorry for the departing sounds, which had been so cheerful and so
comical. She was even sorry for the departed little soldiers, because