War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [684]
“Si vous comptez sur la soupe du soir, vous venez trop tard,”§725 a voice said from behind the fire with restrained laughter.
Dolokhov replied that they were not hungry and had to be on their way that night.
He handed the horses to the soldier who was stirring the pot and squatted by the fire next to the officer with the long neck. This officer, not taking his eyes off Dolokhov, asked again what regiment he was from. Dolokhov did not reply, as if he had not heard the question, and, lighting up a short French pipe that he took from his pocket, asked the officers how far the road ahead was safe from Cossacks.
“Les brigands sont partout,”#726 replied the officer from behind the fire.
Dolokhov said that Cossacks were only a fear for stray ones like him and his comrade, but added questioningly that they probably did not dare to attack large detachments. No one made any reply.
“Well, now he’ll leave,” Petya kept thinking every moment, standing before the fire and listening to his conversation.
But Dolokhov began the stalled conversation again and started asking directly how many men were in their battalion, how many battalions, how many prisoners. Asking about the Russian prisoners who were with their detachment, Dolokhov said:
“La vilaine affaire de trainer ces cadavres après soi. Vaudrait mieux fusiller cette canaille,”*727 and burst loudly into such strange laughter that Petya thought the French would see through the deceit at once, and he involuntarily stepped back from the fire. No one responded to Dolokhov’s words and laughter, and the French officer who could not be seen (he was lying wrapped in his greatcoat) rose slightly and whispered something to his comrade. Dolokhov got up and called the soldier with the horses.
“Will they bring the horses or not?” wondered Petya, involuntarily moving close to Dolokhov.
The horses were brought.
“Bonjour, messieurs,” said Dolokhov.
Petya wanted to say bonsoir†728 but could not bring the word out. The officers were whispering something among themselves. Dolokhov took a long time mounting his horse, which would not stand still; then he rode through the gates at a walk. Petya rode beside him, wishing and not daring to turn around to see if the French were running after them or not.
Coming out to the road, Dolokhov did not ride back to the field, but went through the village. In one place he stopped, listening.
“You hear?” he said.
Petya recognized the sounds of Russian voices and saw the dark figures of Russian prisoners by the fires. Descending to the bridge, Petya and Dolokhov rode past the sentry, who gloomily paced the bridge without saying a word, and went down into the hollow where the Cossacks were waiting.
“Well, and now good-bye. Tell Denisov it’s set for dawn, at the first shot,” said Dolokhov, and he was about to leave, but Petya seized him by the sleeve.
“No!” he cried, “you’re such a hero! Ah, how good! How excellent! How I love you!”
“All right, all right,” said Dolokhov, but Petya would not let go of him, and in the darkness Dolokhov made out that Petya was leaning towards him. He wanted to kiss. Dolokhov kissed him, laughed, and, turning his horse, disappeared into the darkness.
X
On returning to the guardhouse, Petya found Denisov in the front hall. Alarmed, anxious, and vexed with himself for having let Petya go, Denisov was waiting for him.
“Thank God!” he cried. “Well, thank God!” he repeated, listening to Petya’s rapturous story. “Devil take you, I haven’t slept because of you!” said Denisov. “Well, thank God, now go to bed. We can still get some sleep before morning.”
“Yes…No,” said Petya. “I don’t want to sleep yet. And I know myself, if I fall asleep, that’s the end. And then I usually don’t sleep before a battle.”
Petya sat for a while in the cottage, joyfully recalling the details of his ride and vividly imagining how tomorrow would be. Then, noticing that Denisov had fallen asleep, he got up and went outside.