of the fire the slender, handsome figure of a young soldier carrying a load of wood.
“Bring it here—that’s fine!”
They split up the wood, pressed it down on the fire, blew at it with their mouths, and fanned it with the skirts of their greatcoats, making the flames hiss and crackle.
The men drew nearer and lit their pipes.
The handsome young soldier who had brought the wood, setting his arms akimbo, began stamping his cold feet rapidly and deftly on the spot where he stood.
“Mother! The dew is cold but clear. … It’s well that I’m a musketeer …” he sang, pretending to hiccup after each syllable.
“Look out, your soles will fly off!” shouted the red-haired man, noticing that the sole of the dancer’s boot was hanging loose. “What a fellow you are for dancing!”
The dancer stopped,