Hark! a bullet hurtles through the air!

　　Sylvestre stops short to listen!

　　He is upon an infinite meadow, green with the soft velvet carpet ofspring. The sky is gray, lowering, as if to weigh upon one's veryshoulders.

　　They are six sailors reconnoitring among the fresh rice-fields, in amuddy pathway.

　　Hist! again the whizz, breaking the silence of the air--a shrill,continuous sound, a kind of prolonged /zing/, giving one a strongimpression that the pellets buzzing by might have stung fatally.

　　For the first time in his life Sylvestre hears that music. The bulletscoming towards a man have a different sound from those fired byhimself: the far-off report is attenuated, or not heard at all, so itis easier to distinguish the sharp rush of metal as it swiftly passesby, almost grazing one's ears.

　　Crack! whizz! ping! again and yet again! The balls fall in regularshowers now. Close by the sailors they stop short, and are buried inthe flooded soil of the rice-fields, accompanied by a faint splash,like hail falling sharp and swift in a puddle of water.

　　The marines looked at one another as if it was all a piece of odd fun,and said:

　　"Only John Chinaman! pish!"To the sailors, Annamites, Tonquinese, or "Black Flags" are all of thesame Chinese family. It is difficult to show their contempt andmocking rancour, as well as eagerness for "bowling over the beggars,"when they speak of "the Chinese."Two or three bullets are still flying about, more closely grazing;they can be seen bouncing like grasshoppers in the green. The slightshower of lead did not last long.

　　Perfect silence returns to the broad verdant plain, and nowhere cananything be seen moving. The same six are still there, standing on thewatch, scenting the breeze, and trying to discover whence the volleycame. Surely from over yonder, by that clump of bamboos, which lookslike an island of feathers in the plain; behind it several pointedroofs appear half hidden. So they all made for it, their feet slippingor sinking into the soaked soil. Sylvestre runs foremost, on hislonger, more nimble legs.

　　No more buzz of bullets; they might have thought they were dreaming.

　　As in all the countries of the world, some features are the same; thecloudy gray skies and the fresh tints of fields in spring-time, forexample; one could imagine this upon French meadows, and these youngfellows, running merrily over them, playing a very different sportfrom this game of death.

　　But as they approach, the bamboos show the exotic delicacy of theirfoliage, and the village roofs grow sharper in the singularity oftheir curves, and yellow men hidden behind advance to reconnoitre;their flat faces are contracted by fear and spitefulness. Th............