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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