战争与和平(上)-第284部分

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The　esaul；　screwing　up　his　light…coloured　eyes；　nodded　his　head　approvingly。
“That’s　not　my　affair；　no　need　to　discuss　it。　I　don’t　care　to　have　their　lives　on　my　conscience。　You　say　they　die。　Well；　let　them。　Only　not　through　my　doing。”
Dolohov　laughed。
“Who　prevented　their　taking　me　twenty　times　over？　But　you　know　if　they　do　catch　me—and　you　too　with　your　chivalrous　sentiments—it　will　just　be　the　same—the　nearest　aspen…tree。”　He　paused。　“We　must　be　getting　to　work；　though。　Send　my　Cossack　here　with　the　pack。　I　have　two　French　uniforms。　Well；　are　you　coming　with　me？”　he　asked　Petya。
“I？　Yes；　yes；　of　course；”　cried　Petya；　blushing　till　the　tears　came　into　his　eyes；　and　glancing　at　Denisov。
While　Dolohov　had　been　arguing　with　Denisov　what　should　be　done　with　prisoners；　Petya　had　again　had　that　feeling　of　discomfort　and　nervous　hurry；　but　again　he　had　not　time　to　get　a　clear　idea　of　what　they　were　talking　about。　“If　that’s　what　is　thought　by　grown…up　men；　famous　leaders；　then　it　must　be　so；　it　must　be　all　right；”　he　thought。　“And　the　great　thing　is；　that　Denisov　shouldn’t　dare　to　imagine　that　I　must　obey　him；　that　he　can　order　me　about。　I　shall　certainly　go　with　Dolohov　into　the　French　camp。　He　can　go；　and　so　can　I！”
To　all　Denisov’s　efforts　to　dissuade　him　from　going；　Petya　replied　that　he　too　liked　doing　things　properly　and　not　in　haphazard　fashion；　and　that　he　never　thought　about　danger　to　himself。
“For；　you　must　admit；　if　we　don’t　know　exactly　how　many　men　there　are　there；　it　might　cost　the　life　of　hundreds；　and　it　is　only　we　two；　and　so　I　very　much　wish　it；　and　I　shall　certainly；　most　certainly　go；　and　don’t　try　to　prevent　me；”　he　said；　“it　won’t　be　any　use　…”


Chapter　9
PETYA　AND　DOLOHOV；　after　dressing　up　in　French　uniforms　and　shakoes；　rode　to　the　clearing　from　which　Denisov　had　looked　at　the　French　camp；　and　coming　out　of　the　wood；　descended　into　the　hollow　in　the　pitch　darkness。　When　they　had　ridden　downhill；　Dolohov　bade　the　Cossacks　accompanying　him　to　wait　there；　and　set　off　at　a　smart　trot　along　the　road　towards　the　bridge。　Petya；　faint　with　excitement；　trotted　along　beside　him。
“If　we　are　caught；　I　won’t　be　taken　alive。　I　have　a　pistol；”　whispered　Petya。
“Don’t　speak　Russian；”　said　Dolohov；　in　a　rapid　whisper；　and　at　that　moment　they　heard　in　the　dark　the　challenge：　“Who　goes　there？”　and　the　click　of　a　gun。
The　blood　rushed　into　Petya’s　face；　and　he　clutched　at　his　pistol。
“Uhlans　of　the　Sixth　Regiment；”　said　Dolohov；　neither　hastening　nor　slackening　his　horse’s　pace。
The　black　figure　of　a　sentinel　stood　on　the　bridge。
“The　password？”
Dolohov　reined　in　his　horse；　and　advanced　at　a　walking　pace。
“Tell　me；　is　Colonel　Gerard　here？”　he　said。
“Password？”　repeated　the　sentinel；　making　no　reply　and　barring　their　way。
“When　an　officer　makes　his　round；　sentinels　don’t　ask　him　for　the　password　…”　cried　Dolohov；　suddenly　losing　his　temper　and　riding　straight　at　the　sentinel。　“I　ask　you；　is　the　colonel　here？”
And　not　waiting　for　an　answer　from　the　sentinel；　who　moved　aside；　Dolohov　rode　at　a　walking　pace　uphill。
Noticing　the　black　outline　of　a　man　crossing　the　road；　Dolohov　stopped　the　man；　and　asked　where　the　colonel　and　officers　were。　The　man；　a　soldier　with　a　sack　over　his　shoulder；　stopped；　came　close　up　to　Dolohov’s　horse；　stroking　it　with　his　hand；　and　told　them　in　a　simple　and　friendly　way　that　the　colonel　and　the　officers　were　higher　up　the　hill；　on　the　right；　in　the　courtyard　of　the　farm；　as　he　called　the　little　manor…house。
After　going　further　along　the　road；　from　both　sides　of　which　they　heard　French　talk　round　the　camp…fires；　Dolohov　turned　into　the　yard　of　the　manor…house。　On　reaching　the　gate；　he　dismounted　and　walked　towards　a　big；　blazing　fire；　round　which　several　men　were　sitting；　engaged　in　loud　conversation。　There　was　something　boiling　in　a　cauldron　on　one　side；　and　a　soldier　in　a　peaked　cap　and　blue　coat；　kneeling　in　the　bright　glow　of　the　fire；　was　stirring　it　with　his　ramrod。
“He’s　a　tough　customer；”　said　one　of　the　officers；　sitting　in　the　shadow　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　fire。
“He’ll　make　them　run；　the　rabbits”　（a　French　proverb）；　said　the　other；　with　a　laugh。
Both　paused；　and　peered　into　the　darkness　at　the　sound　of　the　steps　of　Petya　and　Dolohov　approaching　with　their　horses。
“Bonjour；　messieurs！”　Dolohov　called　loudly　and　distinctly。
There　was　a　stir　among　the　officers　in　the　shadow；　and　a　tall　officer　with　a　long　neck　came　round　the　fire　and　went　up　to　Dolohov。
“Is　that　you；　Clément？”　said　he。　“Where　the　devil　…”　but　becoming　aware　of　his　mistake；　he　did　not　finish；　and　with　a　slight　frown　greeted　Dolohov　as　a　stranger；　and　asked　him　what　he　could　do　for　him。　Dolohov　told　him　that　he　and　his　comrade　were　trying　to　catch　up　with　their　regiment；　and　asked；　addressing　the　company　in　general；　whether　the　officers　knew　anything　about　the　Sixth　Regiment。　No　one　could　tell　them　anything　about　it；　and　Petya　fancied　the　officers　began　to　look　at　him　and　Dolohov　with　unfriendly　and　suspicious　eyes。
For　several　seconds　no　one　spoke。
“If　you’re　reckoning　on　some　soup；　you　have　come　too　late；”　said　a　voice　from　behind　the　fire；　with　a　smothered　laugh。
Dolohov　answered　that　they　had　had　supper；　and　wanted　to　push　on　further　that　night。
He　gave　their　horses　to　the　soldier　who　was　stirring　the　pot；　and　squatted　down　on　his　heels　beside　the　officer　with　the　long　neck。　The　latter　never　took　his　eyes　off　Dolohov；　and　asked　him　again　what　regiment　did　he　belong　to。
Dolohov　appeared　not　to　hear　the　question。　Making　no　answer；　he　lighted　a　short　French　pipe　that　he　took　from　his　pocket；　and　asked　the　officers　whether　the　road　ahead　of　them　were　safe　from　Cossacks。
“The　brigands　are　everywhere；”　answered　an　officer　from　behind　the　fire。
Dolohov　said　that　the　Cossacks　were　only　a　danger　for　stragglers　like　himself　and　his　comrade；　“he　supposed　they　would　not　dare　to　attack　large　detachments；”　he　added　inquiringly。
No　one　replied。
“Well；　now　he　will　come　away；”　Petya　was　thinking　every　moment；　as　he　stood　by　the　fire　listening　to　the　talk。
But　Dolohov　took　up　the　conversation　that　had　dropped；　and　proceeded　to　ask　them　point…blank　how　many　men　there　were　in　their　battalion；　how　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　be　better　to　shoot　the　vermin；”　and　he　broke　into　such　a　strange；　loud　laugh；　that　Petya　fancied　the　French　must　see　through　their　disguise　at　once；　and　he　involuntarily　stepped　back　from　the　fire。
Dolohov’s　words　and　laughter　elicited　no　response；　and　a　French　officer　whom　they　had　not　seen　（he　lay　rolled　up　in　a　coat）；　sat　up　and　whispered　something　to　his　companion。　Dolohov　stood　up　and　called　to　the　men；　who　held　their　horses。
“Will　they　give　us　the　horses　or　not？”　Petya　wondered；　unconsciously　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　officers　were　whispering　together。　Dolohov　was　a　long　while　mounting　his　horse；　who　would　not　stand　still；　then　he　rode　out　of　the　gate　at　a　walking　pace。　Petya　rode　beside　him；　not　daring　to　look　round；　though　he　was　longing　to　see　whether　the　French　were　running　after　him　or　not。
When　they　came　out　on　to　the　road；　Dolohov　did　not　turn　back　towards　the　open　country；　but　rode　further　along　it　into　the　village。
At　one　spot　he　stood　still；　listening。　“Do　you　hear？”　he　said。　Petya　recognised　the　sound　of　voices　speaking　Russian；　and　saw　round　the　camp…fire　the　dark　outlines　of　Russian　prisoners。　When　they　reached　the　bridge　again；　Petya　and　Dolohov　passed　the　sentinel；　who；　without　uttering　a　word；　paced　gloomily　up　and　down。　They　came　out　to　the　hollow　where　the　Cossacks　were　waiting　for　them。
“Well　now；　good…bye。　Tell　Denisov；　at　sunrise；　at　the　first　shot；”　said　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　I　love　you！”
“That’s　all　right；”　answered　Dolohov；　but　Petya　did　not　let　go　of　him；　and　in　the　dark　Dolohov　made　out　that　he　was　bending　over　to　him　to　be　kissed。　Dolohov　kissed　him；　laughed；　and　turning　his　horse’s　head；　vanished　into　the　darkness。


Chapter　10
ON　REACHING　the　hut　in　the　wood；　Petya　found　Denisov　in　the　porch。　He　was　waiting　for　Petya’s　return　in　great　uneasiness；　anxiety；　and　vexation　with　himself　for　having　let　him　go。
“Thank　God！”　he　cried。　“Well；　thank　God！”　he　repeated；　hearing　Petya’s　ecstatic　account。　“And；　damn　you；　you　have　prevented　my　sleeping！”　he　added。　“Well；　thank　God；　now；　go　to　bed。　We　can　still　get　a　nap　before　morning。”
“Yes　…　no；”　said　Petya。　“I’m　not　sleepy　yet。　Besides；　I　know　what　I　am；　if　once　I　go　to　sleep；　it　will　be　all　up　with　me。　And　besides；　it’s　not　my　habit　to　sleep　before　a　battle。”
Petya　sat　for　a　long　while　in　the　hut；　joyfully　recalling　the　details　of　his　adventure；　and　vividly　imagining　what　was　coming　next　day。　Then；　noticing　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　still　dripping。　Close　by　the　hut　could　be　seen　the　black　outlines　of　the　Cossacks’　shanties　and　the　horses　tied　together。　Behind　the　hut　there　was　a　dark　blur　where　two　waggons　stood　with　the　horses　near　by；　and　in　the　hollow　there　was　a　red　glow　from　the　dying　fire。　The　Cossacks　and　the　hussars　were　not　all　asleep；　there　mingled　with　the　sound　of　the　falling　drops　and　the　munching　of　the　horses；　the　sound　of　low　voices；　that　seemed　to　be　whispering。
Petya　came　out　of　the　porch；　looked　about　him　in　the　darkness；　and　went　up　to　the　waggons。　Some　one　was　snoring　under　the　waggons；　and　saddled　horses　were　standing　round　them　munching　oats。　In　the　dark　Petya　recognised　and　approached　his　own　mare；　whom　he　called　Karabach；　though　she　was　in　fact　of　a　Little　Russian　breed。
“Well；　Karabach；　to…morrow　we　shall　do　good　service；”　he　said；　sniffing　her　nostrils　and　kissing　her。
“Why；　aren’t　you　asleep；　sir？”　said　a　Cossack；　sitting　under　the　waggon。
“No；　but　…　Lihatchev—I　bel