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butterflies flutter about aimlessly； brushing their wings against the walls of the hive。 Here and there； between the cells full of dead brood and honey； is heard an angry buzz； here and there a couple of bees from old habit and custom； though they know not why they do it； are cleaning the hive； painfully dragging away a dead bee or a wasp； a task beyond their strength。 In another corner two other old bees are languidly fighting or cleaning themselves or feeding one another； themselves unaware whether with friendly or hostile intent。 Elsewhere a crowd of bees； squeezing one another； is falling upon some victim； beating and crushing it； and the killed or enfeebled bee drops slowly； light as a feather； on to the heap of corpses。 The beekeeper parts the two centre partitions to look at the nursery。 Instead of the dense； black rings of thousands of bees； sitting back to back； watching the high mysteries of the work of generation； he sees hundreds of dejected； lifeless； and slumbering wrecks of bees。 Almost all have died； unconscious of their coming end； sitting in the holy place； which they had watched—now no more。 They reek of death and corruption。 But a few of them still stir； rise up； fly languidly and settle on the hand of the foe； without the spirit to die stinging him； the rest are dead and as easily brushed aside as fishes’ scales。 The beekeeper closes the partition； chalks a mark on the hive； and choosing his own time； breaks it up and burns it。
So was Moscow deserted； as Napoleon； weary； uneasy and frowning； paced up and down at the Kamerkolezhsky wall awaiting that merely external； but still to his mind essential observance of the proprieties—a deputation。
Some few men were still astir in odd corners of Moscow； aimlessly following their old habits； with no understanding of what they were doing。
When； with due circumspectness； Napoleon was informed that Moscow was deserted； he looked wrathfully at his informant； and turning his back on him； went on pacing up and down in silence。
“My carriage；” he said。 He sat down in his carriage beside the adjutant on duty； and drove into the suburbs。
“Moscow deserted！ What an incredible event！” he said to himself。
He did not drive right into the town； but put up for the night at an inn in the Dorogomilov suburb。 The dramatic scene had not come off。
Chapter 21
THE RUSSIAN TROOPS were crossing Moscow from two o’clock at night to two o’clock in the day； and took with them the last departing inhabitants and wounded soldiers。
The greatest crush took place on the Kamenny bridge； the Moskvoryetsky bridge； and Yauzsky bridge。 While the troops； parting in two about the Kremlin； were crowding on to the Moskvoryetsky and Kamenny bridges； an immense number of soldiers availed themselves of the stoppage and the block to turn back； and slipping stealthily and quietly by Vassily the Blessed； and under the Borovitsky gates； they made their way uphill to the Red Square； where some instinct told them they could easily carry off other people’s property。 Every passage and alley of the Gostinny bazaar was filled with a crowd； such as throngs there at sales。 But there were no ingratiating； alluring voices of shopmen； no hawkers； no motley； female mob of purchasers—everywherewere the uniforms and overcoats of soldiers without guns； going out in silence with loads of booty； and coming in empty…handed。 The shopkeepers and shopmen （they were few） were walking about among the soldiers； like men distraught； opening and shutting their shops； and helping their assistants to carry away their wares。 There were drummers in the square before the bazaar beating the muster…call。 But the roll of the drum made the pillaging soldiers not run up at the call as of old； but； on the contrary； run away from the drum。 Among the soldiers in the shops and passages could be seen men in the grey coats； and with the shaven heads of convicts。 Two officers； one with a scarf over his uniform； on a thin； dark grey horse； the other on foot； wearing a military overcoat； stood at the corner of Ilyinka； talking。 A third officer galloped up to them。
“The general has sent orders that they positively must all be driven out。 Why； this is outrageous！ Half the men have run off。”
“Why； are you off too？ … Where are you fellows off to？” … he shouted to three infantry soldiers； who ran by him into the bazaar without guns； holding up the skirts of their overcoats。 “Stop； rascals！”
“Yes； you see； how are you going to get hold of them？” answered another officer。 “There’s no getting them together； we must push on so that the last may not be gone； that’s the only thing to do！”
“How’s one to push on？ There they have been standing； with a block on the bridge； and they are not moving。 Shouldn’t a guard be set to prevent the rest running off？”
“Why； come along！ Drive them out；” shouted the senior officer。
The officer in the scarf dismounted； called up a drummer； and went with him into the arcade。 Several soldiers in a group together made a rush away。 A shopkeeper； with red bruises on his cheeks about his nose； with an expression on his sleek face of quiet persistence in the pursuit of gain； came hurriedly and briskly up to the officer gesticulating。
“Your honour；” said he； “graciously protect us。 We are not close…fisted—any trifle now … we shall be delighted！ Pray； your honour； walk in； I’ll bring out cloth in a moment—a couple of pieces even for a gentleman —we shall be delighted！ For we feel how it is； but this is simple robbery！ Pray； your honour！ a guard or something should be set； to let us at least shut up …”
Several shopkeepers crowded round the officer。
“Eh！ it’s no use clacking；” said one of them； a thin man； with a stern face； “when one’s head’s off； one doesn’t weep over one’s hair。 Let all take what they please！” And with a vigorous sweep of his arm he turned away from the officer。
“It’s all very well for you to talk； Ivan Sidoritch；” the first shopkeeper began angrily。 “If you please； your honour。”
“What’s the use of talking！” shouted the thin man； “in my three shops here I have one hundred thousand worth of goods。 How’s one to guard them when the army is gone？ Ah； fellows； God’s will is not in men’s hands！”
“If you please； your honour；” said the first shopkeeper； bowing。
The officer stood in uncertainty； and his face betrayed indecision。 “Why； what business is it of mine！” he cried suddenly； and he strode on rapidly along the arcade。 In one open shop he heard blows and high words； and just as the officer was going into it； a man in a grey coat； with a shaven head； was thrust violently out of the door。
This man doubled himself up and bounded past the shopkeepers and the officer。 The officer pounced on the soldiers who were in the shop。 But meanwhile fearful screams； coming from an immense crowd； were heard near the Moskvoryetsky bridge； and the officer ran out into the square。
“What is it？ What is it？” he asked； but his comrade had already galloped off in the direction of the screams。 The officer mounted his horse and followed him。 As he drew near the bridge； he saw two cannons that had been taken off their carriages； the infantry marching over the bridge； a