that loftiest
of human appellations he could not renounce it, said the officer's look
and tone. In reply to his last question Pierre again explained who Makar
Alexeevich was and how just before their arrival that drunken imbecile
had seized the loaded pistol which they had not had time to recover from
him, and begged the officer to let the deed go unpunished.

The Frenchman expanded his chest and made a majestic gesture with his
arm.

"You have saved my life! You are French. You ask his pardon? I grant it
you. Lead that man away!" said he quickly and energetically, and taking
the arm of Pierre whom he had promoted to be a Frenchman for saving his
life, he went with him into the room.

The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, came into the passage asking
what had happened, and expressed their readiness to punish the culprits,
but the officer sternly checked them.

"You will be called in when you are wanted," he said.

The soldiers went out again, and the orderly, who had meanwhile had time
to visit the kitchen, came up to his officer.

"Captain, there is soup and a leg of mutton in the kitchen," said he.
"Shall I serve them up?"

"Yes, and some wine," answered the captain.

CHAPTER XXIX

When the French officer went into the room with Pierre the latter again
thought it his duty to assure him that he was not French and wished to
go away, but the officer would not hear of it. He was so very polite,
amiable, good-natured, and genuinely grateful to Pierre for saving his
life that Pierre had not the heart to refuse, and sat down with him in
the parlor--the first room they entered. To Pierre's assurances that he
was not a Frenchman, the captain, evidently not understanding how anyone
could decline so flattering an appellation, shrugged his shoulders and
said that if Pierre absolutely insisted on passing for a Russian let it
be so, but for all that he would be forever bound to Pierre by gratitude
for saving his life.

Had this man been endowed with the slightest capacity for perceiving the
feelings of others, and had he at all understood what Pierre's feelings
were, the latter would probably have left him, but the man's animated
obtuseness to everything other than himself disarmed Pierre.

"A Frenchman or a Russian prince incognito," said the officer, looking
at Pierre's fine though dirty linen and at the ring on his finger.
"I owe my life to you and offer you my friendship. A Frenchman never
forgets