With his shaggy head thrown back like birds when they drink, pressing his spurs mercilessly into the sides of his good horse, Bedouin, and sitting as though falling backwards in the saddle, he galloped to the other flank of the squadron and shouted in a hoarse voice to the men to look to their pistols.

He rode up to Kirsten.

The staff captain on his broad-backed, steady mare came at a walk to meet him.

His face with its long mustache was serious as always, only his eyes were brighter than usual.

"Well, what about it?" said he to Denisov.