n old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a skeleton, with a
stern sallow face and eyes intently fixed on Rostov. The man's neighbor
on one side whispered something to him, pointing at Rostov, who noticed
that the old man wanted to speak to him. He drew nearer and saw that the
old man had only one leg bent under him, the other had been amputated
above the knee. His neighbor on the other side, who lay motionless some
distance from him with his head thrown back, was a young soldier with
a snub nose. His pale waxen face was still freckled and his eyes were
rolled back. Rostov looked at the young soldier and a cold chill ran
down his back.

"Why, this one seems..." he began, turning to the assistant.

"And how we've been begging, your honor," said the old soldier, his
jaw quivering. "He's been dead since morning. After all we're men, not
dogs."

"I'll send someone at once. He shall be taken away--taken away at once,"
said the assistant hurriedly. "Let us go, your honor."

"Yes, yes, let us go," said Rostov hastily, and lowering his eyes and
shrinking, he tried to pass unnoticed between the rows of reproachful
envious eyes that were fixed upon him, and went out of the room.

CHAPTER XVIII

Going along the corridor, the assistant led Rostov to the officers'
wards, consisting of three rooms, the doors of which stood open. There
were beds in these rooms and the sick and wounded officers were lying or
sitting on them. Some were walking about the rooms in hospital dressing
gowns. The first person Rostov met in the officers' ward was a thin
little man with one arm, who was walking about the first room in a
nightcap and hospital dressing gown, with a pipe between his teeth.
Rostov looked at him, trying to remember where he had seen him before.

"See where we've met again!" said the little man. "Tushin, Tushin, don't
you remember, who gave you a lift at Schon Grabern? And I've had a bit
cut off, you see..." he went on with a smile, pointing to the empty
sleeve of his dressing gown. "Looking for Vasili Dmitrich Denisov? My
neighbor," he added, when he heard who Rostov wanted. "Here, here," and
Tushin led him into the next room, from whence came sounds of several
laughing voices.

"How can they laugh, or even live at all here?" thought Rostov, still
aware of that smell of decomposing flesh that had been so strong in
the soldiers' ward, and still seeming to see fixed on him those envious
looks which had follow