He gave their horses to the soldier who was stirring the pot, and squatte down on his heels beside the officer with the long neck. The latter neve took his eyes off Dolohov, and asked him again what regiment did h belong to.
Dolohov appeared not to hear the question. Making no answer, h lighted a short French pipe that he took from his pocket, and asked th officers whether the road ahead of them were safe from Cossacks.
‘The brigands are everywhere,’ answered an officer from behind the fin
Dolohov said that the Cossacks were only a danger for stragglers lik himself and his comrade; ‘he supposed they would not dare to attack larg detachments,’ he added inquiringly.
No one replied.
‘Well, now he will come away,’ Petya was thinking every moment, a he stood by the fire listening to the talk.
But Dolohov took up the conversation that had dropped, and proceede to ask them point-blank how many men there were in their battalion, ho’ many battalions they had, and how many prisoners.
When he asked about the Russian prisoners, Dolohov added:
‘Nasty business dragging those corpses about with one. It would b better to shoot the vermin,’ and he broke into such a strange, loud laugl that Petya fancied the French must see through their disguise at onc< and he involuntarily stepped back from the fire.
Dolohov’s words and laughter elicited no response, and a French office whom they had not seen (he lay rolled up in a coat), sat up and whispere something to his companion. Dolohov stood up and called to the mer who held their horses.
‘Will they give us the horses or not?’ Petya wondered, unconsciousl coming closer to Dolohov.
They did give them the horses. ‘Bonsoir, messieurs,’ said Dolohov.
Petya tried to say ‘Bonsoir,’ but he could not utter a sound. The officer were whispering together. Dolohov was a long while mounting his horst who would not stand still; then he rode out of the gate at a walking pact Petya rode beside him, not daring to look round, though he was longin to see whether the French were running after him or not.
When they came out on to the road, Dolohov did not turn back toward the open country, but rode further along it into the village.
At one spot he stood still, listening. ‘Do you hear?’ he said. Petya recof nised the sound of voices speaking Russian, and saw round the camp-fir the dark outlines of Russian prisoners. When they reached the bridg again, Petya and Dolohov passed the sentinel, who, without uttering word, paced gloomily up and down. They came out to the hollow whet the Cossacks were waiting for them.
‘Well now, good-bye. Tell Denisov, at sunrise, at the first shot,’ sai Dolohov, and he was going on, but Petya clutched at his arm.
‘Oh! ’ he cried, ‘you are a hero! Oh! how splendid it is! how jolly! How love you!’
‘That’s all right,’ answered Dolohov, but Petya did not let go of him, id in the dark Dolohov made out that he was bending over to him to be ssed. Dolohov kissed him, laughed, and turning his horse’s head, van- hed into the darkness.
X
|n reaching the hut in the wood, Petya found Denisov in the porch. He as waiting for Petya’s return in great uneasiness, anxiety, and vexation ith himself for having let him go.
‘Thank God! ’ he cried. ‘Well, thank God! ’ he repeated, hearing Petya’s :static account. ‘And, damn you, you have prevented my sleeping!’ he Ided. ‘Well, thank God; now, go to bed. We can still get a nap before orning.’
‘Yes . . . no,’ said Petya. ‘I’m not sleepy yet. Besides, I know what I n; if once I go to sleep, it will be all up with me. And besides, it’s not y habit to sleep before a battle.’
Petya sat for a little while in the hut, joyfully recalling the details of .s adventure, and vividly imagining what was coming next day. Then, Dticing that Denisov had fallen asleep, he got up and went out of doors.
It was still quite dark outside. The rain was over, but the trees were ill dripping. Close by the hut could be seen the black outlines of the ossacks’ shanties and the horses tied together. Behind the hut there was dark blur where two waggons stood with the horses near by, and in the dIIow there was a red glow from the dying fire. The Cossacks and the 'ussars were not all asleep; there mingled with the sound of the falling 'ops and the munching of the horses, the sound of low voices, that seemed i be whispering.
Petya came out of the porch, looked about him in the darkness, and lent up to the waggons. Some one was snoring under the waggons, and iddled horses were standing round them munching oats. In the dark etya recognised and approached his own mare, whom he called Kara- ach, though she was in fact of a Little Russian breed.
‘Well, Karabach, to-morrow we shall do good service,’ he said, sniffing er nostrils and kissing her.
