But youth triumphed. Pavel did not succumb¹ to the typhoid fever. For the fourth time he crossed the border line of death and came back to life. It was a whole month, however, before he was able to rise from his bed. Gaunt and pale, he tottered² feebly across the room on his shaky legs, clinging to the wall for support. With his mother's help he reached the window and stood there for a long time looking out onto the road where pools of melted snow glittered in the early spring sunshine.
It was the first thaw³ of the year. Just in front of the window a grey-breasted sparrow perched on the branch of a cherry-tree was preening⁴ its feathers, stealing quick uneasy glances at Pavel.
"So you and I got through the winter, eh?" Pavel said, softly tapping on the window pane⁵.
His mother looked up startled.
"Who are you talking to out there?"
"A sparrow.... There now, he's flown away, the little rascal⁶." And Pavel gave a wan⁷ smile.
By the time spring was at its height Pavel began to think of returning to town. He was now strong enough to walk, but some mysterious disease was undermining his strength. One day as he was walking in the garden a sudden excruciating pain in his spine⁹ knocked him off his feet. With difficulty he got up and dragged himself back to his room. The next day he submitted to a thorough medical examination. The doctor, examining Pavel's back, discovered a deep depression in his spine.
"How did you get this?" he asked.
"That was in the fighting near Rovno. A three-inch gun tore up the highway behind us and a stone hit me in the back."
"But how did you manage to walk? Hasn't it ever bothered you?"
"No. I couldn't get up for an hour or two after it happened, but then it passed and I got into the saddle again. It has never troubled me till now,"

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