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In ten minutes the table was ready and covered with a napkin。 On the table was set vodka； a flask of rum； white bread； and roast mutton； and salt。
Sitting at the table with the officers； tearing the fat； savoury mutton with greasy fingers； Petya was in a childishly enthusiastic condition of tender love for all men and a consequent belief in the same feeling for himself in others。
“So what do you think； Vassily Fyodorovitch；” he said to Denisov； “it won’t matter my staying a day with you； will it？” And without waiting for an answer； he answered himself： “Why； I was told to find out； and here I am finding out … Only you must let me go into the middle … into the real … I don’t care about rewards … But I do want …” Petya clenched his teeth and looked about him； tossing his head and waving his arm。
“Into the real； real thing …” Denisov said； smiling。
“Only； please； do give me a command of something altogether； so that I really might command；” Petya went on。 “Why； what would it be to you？ Ah； you want a knife？” he said to an officer； who was trying to tear off a piece of mutton。 And he gave him his pocket…knife。
The officer praised the knife。
“Please keep it。 I have several like it …” said Petya； blushing。 “Heavens！ Why； I was quite forgetting；” he cried suddenly。 “I have some capital raisins； you know the sort without stones。 We have a new canteen…keeper； and he does get first…rate things。 I bought ten pounds of them。 I’m fond of sweet things。 Will you have some？” … and Petya ran out to his Cossack in the porch； and brought in some panniers in which there were five pounds of raisins。 “Please take some。”
“Don’t you need a coffee…pot？” he said to the esaul； “I bought a famous one from our canteen…keeper！ He has first…rate things。 And he’s very honest。 That’s the great thing。 I’ll be sure and send it you。 Or perhaps your flints are worn out； that does happen sometimes。 I brought some with me； I have got them here …” he pointed to the panniers。 “A hundred flints。 I bought them very cheap。 You must please take as many as you want or all； indeed …” And suddenly； dismayed at the thought that he had let his tongue run away with him； Petya stopped short and blushed。
He began trying to think whether he had been guilty of any other blunders。 And running through his recollections of the day the image of the French drummer…boy rose before his mind。
“We are enjoying ourselves； but how is he feeling？ What have they done with him？ Have they given him something to eat？ Have they been nasty to him？” he wondered。
But thinking he had said too much about the flints； he was afraid to speak now。
“Could I ask about him？” he wondered。 “They’ll say： he’s a boy himself； so he feels for the boy。 I’ll let them see to…morrow whether I’m a boy！ Shall I feel ashamed if I ask？” Petya wondered。 “Oh； well！ I don’t care；” and he said at once； blushing and watching the officers’ faces in dread of detecting amusement in them：
“Might I call that boy who was taken prisoner； and give him something to eat … perhaps …”
“Yes； poor little fellow；” said Denisov； who clearly saw nothing to be ashamed of in this reminder。 “Fetch him in here。 His name is Vincent Bosse。 Fetch him in。”
“I’ll call him；” said Petya。
“Yes； do。 Poor little fellow；” repeated Denisov。
Petya was standing at the door as Denisov said this。 He slipped in between the officers and went up to Denisov。
“Let me kiss you； dear old fellow；” he said。 “Ah； how jolly it is！ how splendid！” And； kissing Denisov； he ran out into the yard。
“Bosse！ Vincent！” Petya cried； standing by the door。
“Whom do you want； sir？” said a voice out of the darkness。 Petya answered that he wanted the French boy； who had been taken prisoner that day。
“Ah！ Vesenny？” said the Cossack。
His name Vincent had already been transformed by the Cossacks into Vesenny； and by the peasants and the soldiers into Visenya。 In both names there was a suggestion of the spring—vesna—which seemed to them to harmonise with the figure of the young boy。
“He’s warming himself there at the fire。 Ay； Visenya！ Visenya！” voices called from one to another with laughter in the darkness。 “He is a sharp boy；” said an hussar standing near Petya。 “We gave him a meal not long ago。 He was hungry； terribly。”
There was a sound of footsteps in the darkness； and the drummer…boy came splashing through the mud with his bare feet towards the door。
“Ah； that’s you！” said Petya。 “Are you hungry？ Don’t be afraid； they won’t hurt you；” he added； shyly and cordially touching his hand。 “Come in； come in。”
“Thank you；” answered the drummer； in a trembling； almost childish voice； and he began wiping the mud off his feet on the threshold。 Petya had a great deal he longed to say to the drummer…boy； but he did not dare。 He stood by him in the porch； moving uneasily。 Then he took his hand in the darkness and squeezed it。 “Come in； come in；” he repeated； but in a soft whisper。
“Oh； if I could only do something for him！” Petya was saying inwardly； and opening the door he ushered the boy in before him。
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。