‘Ah, that’s you!’ said Petya. ‘Are you hungry? Don’t be afraid, the; won’t hurt ymu,’ he added, shyly and cordially touching his hand. ‘Com. in, come in.’
‘Thank you,’ answered the drummer, in a trembling, almost childisi voice, and he began wiping the mud off his feet on the threshold. Pety; had a great deal he longed to say to the drummer-boy, but he did no dare. He stood by him in the porch, moving uneasily. Then he took hi: hand in the darkness and squeezed it. ‘Come in, come in,’ he repeated but in a soft whisper.
‘Oh, if I could only do something for him!’ Petya was saying in wardly, and opening the door he ushered the boy in before him.
When the drummer-boy had come into the hut, Petya sat down a some distance from him, feeling that it would be lowering his dignity ti take much notice of him. But he was feeling the money in his pockei and wondering whether it would do to give some to the drummer-boy
VIII
Denisov gave orders for the drummer-boy to be given some vodka and mutton, and to be put into a Russian dress, so that he should not be sent off with the other prisoners, but should stay with his band. Petya’s attention was diverted from the boy by the arrival of Dolohov. He had heard a great many stories told in the army of Dolohov’s extraordinary gallantry and of his cruelty to the French. And therefore from the moment Dolohov entered the hut Petya could not take his eyes off him. and flinging up his head, he assumed a more and more swaggering air. that he might not be unworthy of associating even with a hero like Dolohov.
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Dolohov’s appearance struck Petya as strange through its simplicity. Denisov was dressed in a Cossack coat; he had let his beard grow, ad had a holy image of Nikolay, the wonder-worker, on his breast. His vsole manner of speaking and all his gestures were suggestive of his puliar position. Dolohov, on the contrary, though in old days he had vrn a Persian dress in Moscow, looked now like the most correct officer o the Guards. He was clean-shaven; he wore the wadded coat of the tiards with a St. George medal on a ribbon, and a plain forage cap, pt on straight on his head. He took his wet cloak off in the corner ad, without greeting any one, went straight up to Denisov and began a once asking questions about the matter in hand. Denisov told him o the designs the larger detachment had upon the French convoy, of t; message Petya had brought, and the answer he had given to both eaerals. Then he told him all he knew of the position of the French. That’s so. But we must find out what troops they are, and what are teir numbers,’ said Dolohov; ‘we must go and have a look at them, le can’t rush into the thing without knowing for certain how many t;re are of them. I like to do things properly. Come, won’t one of you 2'itlemen like to come with me to pay them a call in their camp? I have a extra uniform with me.’
‘I, I . . . I’ll come with you!’ cried Petya.
There’s not the slightest need for you to go,’ said Denisov, addressing Idohov; ‘and as for him I wouldn’t let him go on any account.’ That’s good!’ cried Petya; ‘why shouldn’t I go? . . .’
TVhy, because there’s no reason to.’
: Oh, well, excuse me . . . because . . . because ... I’m going, and tit’s all. You will take me?’ he cried, turning to Dolohov. fWhy not? . . .’ Dolohov answered, absently, staring into the face : the French drummer-boy.
‘Have you had that youngster long?’ he asked Denisov.
‘We caught him to-day, but he knows nothing; I have kept him with li’
! Oh, and what do you do with the rest?’ said Dolohov.
‘What do I do with them? I take a receipt for them, and send them :! ’ cried Denisov, suddenly Hushing. ‘And I make bold to say that I iven’t a single man’s life on my conscience. Is there any difficulty in yur sending thirty, or three hundred men, under escort, to the town r her than stain — I say so bluntly — one’s honour as a soldier?’
‘It’s all very well for this little count here at sixteen to talk of such rinements,’ Dolohov said, with a cold sneer; ‘but it’s high time for ju to drop all that.’
‘Why, I am not saying anything, I only say that I am certainly going Uh you,’ said Petya shyly.
‘But for me and you, mate, it’s high time to drop such delicacy,’ blohov went on, apparently deriving peculiar gratification from talking ( a subject irritating to Denisov. ‘Why have you kept this lad,’ he said, ‘:cept because you are sorry for him? Why, we all know how much
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your receipts are worth. You send off a hundred men and thirty rea the town. They die of hunger or are killed on the way. So isn’t it ji as well to make short work of them?’
The esaul, screwing up his light-coloured eyes, nodded his head a provingly.
‘That’s not my affair, no need to discuss it. I don’t care to have thi lives on my conscience. You say they die. Well, let them. Only r through my doing.’
Dolohov laughed.
