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"The squadwon can't pass," shouted Vaska Denisov, showing his

white teeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab,

which twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted,

spurting white foam from his bit, tramping the planks of the

bridge with his hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the

railings had his rider let him. "What is this? They're like

sheep! Just like sheep! Out of the way!... Let us pass!... Stop

there, you devil with the cart! I'll hack you with my saber!" he

shouted, actually drawing his saber from its scabbard and

flourishing it.

The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces,

and Denisov joined Nesvitski.

"How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nesvitski when the other

had ridden up to him.

"They don't even give one time to dwink!" answered Vaska Denisov.

"They keep dwagging the wegiment to and fwo all day. If they mean

to fight, let's fight. But the devil knows what this is."