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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 smothered laugh。
Dolohov answered that they had had supper； and wanted to push on further that night。
He gave their horses to the soldier who was stirring the pot； and squatted down on his heels beside the officer with the long neck。 The latter never took his eyes off Dolohov； and asked him again what regiment did he belong to。
Dolohov appeared not to hear the question。 Making no answer； he lighted a short French pipe that he took from his pocket； and asked the officers whether the road ahead of them were safe from Cossacks。
“The brigands are everywhere；” answered an officer from behind the fire。
Dolohov said that the Cossacks were only a danger for stragglers like himself and his comrade； “he supposed they would not dare to attack large detachments；” he added inquiringly。
No one replied。
“Well； now he will come away；” Petya was thinking every moment； as he stood by the fire listening to the talk。
But Dolohov took up the conversation that had dropped； and proceeded to ask them point…blank how many men there were in their battalion； how many battalions they had； and how many prisoners。
When he asked about the Russian prisoners； Dolohov added：
“Nasty business dragging those corpses about with one。 It would be better to shoot the vermin；” and he broke into such a strange； loud laugh； that Petya fancied the French must see through their disguise at once； and he involuntarily stepped back from the fire。
Dolohov’s words and laughter elicited no response； and a French officer whom they had not seen （he lay rolled up in a coat）； sat up and whispered something to his companion。 Dolohov stood up and called to the men； who held their horses。
“Will they give us the horses or not？” Petya wondered； unconsciously coming closer to Dolohov。
They did give them the horses。 “Bonsoir； messieurs；” said Dolohov。
Petya tried to say “Bonsoir；” but he could not utter a sound。 The officers were whispering together。 Dolohov was a long while mounting his horse； who would not stand still； then he rode out of the gate at a walking pace。 Petya rode beside him； not daring to look round； though he was longing to see whether the French were running after him or not。
When they came out on to the road； Dolohov did not turn back towards the open country； but rode further along it into the village。
At one spot he stood still； listening。 “Do you hear？” he said。 Petya recognised the sound of voices speaking Russian； and saw round the camp…fire the dark outlines of Russian prisoners。 When they reached the bridge again； Petya and Dolohov passed the sentinel； who； without uttering a word； paced gloomily up and down。 They came out to the hollow where the Cossacks were waiting for them。
“Well now； good…bye。 Tell Denisov； at sunrise； at the first shot；” said Dolohov； and he was going on； but Petya clutched at his arm。
“Oh！” he cried； “you are a hero！ Oh！ how splendid it is！ how jolly！ How I love you！”
“That’s all right；” answered Dolohov； but Petya did not let go of him； and in the dark Dolohov made out that he was bending over to him to be kissed。 Dolohov kissed him； laughed； and turning his horse’s head； vanished into the darkness。
Chapter 10
ON REACHING the hut in the wood； Petya found Denisov in the porch。 He was waiting for Petya’s return in great uneasiness； anxiety； and vexation with himself for having let him go。
“Thank God！” he cried。 “Well； thank God！” he repeated； hearing Petya’s ecstatic account。 “And； damn you； you have prevented my sleeping！” he added。 “Well； thank God； now； go to bed。 We can still get a nap before morning。”
“Yes … no；” said Petya。 “I’m not sleepy yet。 Besides； I know what I am； if once I go to sleep； it will be all up with me。 And besides； it’s not my habit to sleep before a battle。”
Petya sat for a long while in the hut； joyfully recalling the details of his adventure； and vividly imagining what was coming next day。 Then； noticing that Denisov had fallen asleep； he got up and went out of doors。
It was still quite dark outside。 The rain was over； but the trees were still dripping。 Close by the hut could be seen the black outlines of the Cossacks’ shanties and the horses tied together。 Behind the hut there was a dark blur where two waggons stood with the horses near by； and in the hollow there was a red glow from the dying fire。 The Cossacks and the hussars were not all asleep； there mingled with the sound of the falling drops and the munching of the horses； the sound of low voices； that seemed to be whispering。
Petya came out of the porch； looked about him in the darkness； and went up to the waggons。 Some one was snoring under the waggons； and saddled horses were standing round them munching oats。 In the dark Petya recognised and approached his own mare； whom he called Karabach； though she was in fact of a Little Russian breed。
“Well； Karabach； to…morrow we shall do good service；” he said； sniffing her nostrils and kissing her。
“Why； aren’t you asleep； sir？” said a Cossack； sitting under the waggon。
“No； but … Lihatchev—I believe that’s your name； eh？ You know I have only just come back。 We have been calling on the French。” And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed account； not only of his adventure； but also of his reasons for going； and why he thought it better to risk his life than to do things in a haphazard way。
“Well； you must be sleepy； get a little sleep；” said the Cossack。
“No； I am used to it；” answered Petya。 “And how are the flints in our pistols—not worn out？ I brought some with me。 Don’t you want any？ Do take some。”
The Cossack popped out from under the waggon to take a closer look at Petya。
“For； you see； I like to do everything carefully；” said Petya。 “Some men； you know； leave things to chance； and don’t have things ready； and then they regret it。 I don’t like that。”
“No； to be sure；” said the Cossack。
“Oh； and another thing； please； my dear fellow； sharpen my sabre for me； I have blunt …” （but Petya could not bring out a lie） … “it has never been sharpened。 Can you do that？”
“To be sure I can。”
Lihatchev stood up； and rummaged in the baggage； and Petya stood and heard the martial sound of steel and whetstone。 He clambered on to the waggon； and sat on the edge of it。 The Cossack sharpened the sabre below。
“Are the other brave fellows asleep？” said Petya。
“Some are asleep； and some are awake； like us。”
“And what about the boy？”
“Vesenny？ He’s lying yonder in the hay。 He’s sleeping well after his fright。 He was so pleased。”
For a long while after that Petya sat quiet； listening to the sounds。 There was a sound of footsteps in the darkness； and a dark figure appeared。
“What are you sharpening？” asked a man coming up to the waggon。
“A sabre for the gentleman here。”
“That’s a good thing；” said the man； who seemed to Petya to be an hussar。 “Was the cup left with you here？”
“It’s yonder by the wheel。” The hussar took the cup。 “It will soon be daylight；” he added； yawning； as he walked off。
Petya must； one would suppose； have known that he was in a woo