"Please, your excellency, for God's sake!" he kept saying, glancing for support at an officer of the suite who turned away from him.

"There, you see!" and he drew attention to the bullets whistling, singing, and hissing continually around them.

He spoke in the tone of entreaty and reproach that a carpenter uses to a gentleman who has picked up an ax: "We are used to it, but you, sir, will blister your hands.

" He spoke as if those bullets could not kill him, and his half-closed eyes gave still more persuasiveness to his words.