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The arrival of Dolokhov diverted Petya's attention from the
drummer boy, to whom Denisov had had some mutton and vodka given,
and whom he had had dressed in a Russian coat so that he might
be kept with their band and not sent away with the other prisoners.
Petya had heard in the army many stories of Dolokhov's extraordinary
bravery and of his cruelty to the French, so from the moment he
entered the hut Petya did not take his eyes from him, but braced
himself up more and more and held his head high, that he might
not be unworthy even of such company.
Dolokhov's appearance amazed Petya by its simplicity.
Denisov wore a Cossack coat, had a beard, had an icon of Nicholas
the Wonder-Worker on his breast, and his way of speaking and everything
he did indicated his unusual position. But Dolokhov, who in Moscow
had worn a Persian costume, had now the appearance of a most correct
officer of the Guards. He was clean-shaven and wore a Guardsman's
padded coat with an Order of St. George at his buttonhole and
a plain forage cap set straight on his head. He took off his wet
felt cloak in a corner of the room, and without greeting anyone
went up to Denisov and began questioning him about the matter
in hand. Denisov told him of the designs the large detachments
had on the transport, of the message Petya had brought, and his
own replies to both generals. Then he told him all he knew of
the French detachment.
"That's so. But we must know what troops they are and
their numbers," said Dolokhov. "It will be necessary
to go there. We can't start the affair without knowing for certain
how many there are. I like to work accurately. Here now- wouldn't
one of these gentlemen like to ride over to the French camp with
me? I have brought a spare uniform."
"I, I... I'll go with you!" cried Petya.
"There's no need for you to go at all," said Denisov,
addressing Dolokhov, "and as for him, I won't let him go
on any account."
"I like that!" exclaimed Petya. "Why shouldn't
I go?"
"Because it's useless."
"Well, you must excuse me, because... because... I shall
go, and that's all. You'll take me, won't you?" he said,
turning to Dolokhov.
"Why not?" Dolokhov answered absently, scrutinizing
the face of the French drummer boy. "Have you had that youngster
with you long?" he asked Denisov.
"He was taken today but he knows nothing. I'm keeping
him with me."
"Yes, and where do you put the others?" inquired
Dolokhov.
"Where? I send them away and take a weceipt for them,"
shouted Denisov, suddenly flushing. "And I say boldly that
I have not a single man's life on my conscience. Would it be difficult
for you to send thirty or thwee hundwed men to town under escort,
instead of staining- I speak bluntly- staining the honor of a
soldier?"
"That kind of amiable talk would be suitable from this
young count of sixteen," said Dolokhov with cold irony, "but
it's time for you to drop it."
"Why, I've not said anything! I only say that I'll certainly
go with you," said Petya shyly.
"But for you and me, old fellow, it's time to drop these
amenities," continued Dolokhov, as if he found particular
pleasure in speaking of this subject which irritated Denisov.
"Now, why have you kept this lad?" he went on, swaying
his head. "Because you are sorry for him! Don't we know those
'receipts' of yours? You send a hundred men away, and thirty get
there. The rest either starve or get killed. So isn't it all the
same not to send them?"
The esaul, screwing up his light-colored eyes, nodded approvingly.
"That's not the point. I'm not going to discuss the matter.
I do not wish to take it on my conscience. You say they'll die.
All wight. Only not by my fault!"
Dolokhov began laughing.
"Who has told them not to capture me these twenty times
over? But if they did catch me they'd string me up to an aspen
tree, and with all your chivalry just the same." He paused.
"However, we must get to work. Tell the Cossack to fetch
my kit. I have two French uniforms in it. Well, are you coming
with me?" he asked Petya.
"I? Yes, yes, certainly!" cried Petya, blushing
almost to tears and glancing at Denisov.
While Dolokhov had been disputing with Denisov what should
be done with prisoners, Petya had once more felt awkward and restless;
but again he had no time to grasp fully what they were talking
about. "If grown-up, distinguished men think so, it must
be necessary and right," thought he. "But above all
Denisov must not dare to imagine that I'll obey him and that he
can order me about. I will certainly go to the French camp with
Dolokhov. If he can, so can I!"
And to all Denisov's persuasions, Petya replied that he too
was accustomed to do everything accurately and not just anyhow,
and that he never considered personal danger.
"For you'll admit that if we don't know for sure how
many of them there are... hundreds of lives may depend on it,
while there are only two of us. Besides, I want to go very much
and certainly will go, so don't hinder me," said he. "It
will only make things worse..."
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