战争与和平(上)-第315节

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When　the　drummer…boy　had　come　into　the　hut；　Petya　sat　down　at　some　distance　from　him；　feeling　that　it　would　be　lowering　his　dignity　to　take　much　notice　of　him。　But　he　was　feeling　the　money　in　his　pocket　and　wondering　whether　it　would　do　to　give　some　to　the　drummer…boy。


Chapter　8
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　swagging　air；　that　he　might　not　be　unworthy　of　associating　even　with　a　hero　like　Dolohov。
Dolohov’s　appearance　struck　Petya　as　strange　through　its　simplicity。
Denisov　was　dressed　in　a　Cossack　coat；　he　had　let　his　beard　grow；　and　had　a　holy　image　of　Nikolay；　the　wonder…worker；　on　his　breast。　His　whole　manner　of　speaking　and　all　his　gestures　were　suggestive　of　his　peculiar　position。　Dolohov；　on　the　contrary；　though　in　old　days　he　had　worn　a　Persian　dress　in　Moscow；　looked　now　like　the　most　correct　officer　of　the　Guards。　He　was　clean…shaven；　he　wore　the　wadded　coat　of　the　Guards　with　a　St。　George　medal　on　a　ribbon；　and　a　plain　forage　cap；　put　on　straight　on　his　head。　He　took　his　wet　cloak　off　in　the　corner　and；　without　greeting　any　one；　went　straight　up　to　Denisov　and　began　at　once　asking　questions　about　the　matter　in　hand。　Denisov　told　him　of　the　designs　the　larger　detachment　had　upon　the　French　convoy；　of　the　message　Petya　had　brought；　and　the　answer　he　had　given　to　both　generals。　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　their　numbers；”　said　Dolohov；　“we　must　go　and　have　a　look　at　them。　We　can’t　rush　into　the　thing　without　knowing　for　certain　how　many　there　are　of　them。　I　like　to　do　things　properly。　Come；　won’t　one　of　you　gentlemen　like　to　come　with　me　to　pay　them　a　call　in　their　camp？　I　have　an　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　Dolohov；　“and　as　for　him　I　wouldn’t　let　him　go　on　any　account。”
“That’s　good！”　cried　Petya；　“why　shouldn’t　I　go？　…”
“Why；　because　there’s　no　reason　to。”
“Oh；　well；　excuse　me　…　because　…　because　…　I’m　going；　and　that’s　all。　You　will　take　me？”　he　cried；　turning　to　Dolohov。
“Why　not？　…”　Dolohov　answered；　absently；　staring　into　the　face　of　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　us。”
“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　off！”　cried　Denisov；　suddenly　flushing。　“And　I　make　bold　to　say　that　I　haven’t　a　single　man’s　life　on　my　conscience。　Is　there　any　difficulty　in　your　sending　thirty；　or　three　hundred　men；　under　escort；　to　the　town　rather　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　refinements；”　Dolohov　said；　with　a　cold　sneer；　“but　it’s　high　time　for　you　to　drop　all　that。”
“Why；　I　am　not　saying　anything；　I　only　say　that　I　am　certainly　going　with　you；”　said　Petya　shyly。
“But　for　me　and　you；　mate；　it’s　high　time　to　drop　such　delicacy；”　Dolohov　went　on；　apparently　deriving　peculiar　gratification　from　talking　on　a　subject　irritating　to　Denisov。　“Why　have　you　kept　this　lad；”　he　said；　“except　because　you　are　sorry　for　him？　Why；　we　all　know　how　much　your　receipts　are　worth。　You　send　off　a　hundred　men　and　thirty　reach　the　town。　They　die　of　hunger　or　are　killed　on　the　way。　So　isn’t　it　just　as　well　to　make　short　work　of　them？”
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　sm