“... The cart was slowly approaching, and it seemed they had already noticed him. The German with the raised collar of his greatcoat, who was sitting sideways to him, continued to chatter something, while the other, with his cap pulled down over his ears, who was driving the horses, was already craning his neck, peering at the road. Ivanovsky, with a grenade thrust under his stomach, lay motionless. He knew that from a distance he was not very noticeable in his camouflage coat, and besides, in the rut he was quite covered with snow. Trying not to move and almost stopping breathing altogether, he hid, closing his eyes; if they noticed, let them think that he was dead and drive closer. But they didn’t drive closer, about twenty paces they stopped their horses and shouted something to him. He still did not move or respond, he only furtively watched them through his loosely closed eyelids, tenderly feeling the saving roundness of the grenade under him as never before tonight. ..."