"He does not look like a common man," said the interpreter, after a
searching look at Pierre.

"Ah, he looks very much like an incendiary," remarked the officer. "And
ask him who he is," he added.

"Who are you?" asked the interpreter in poor Russian. "You must answer
the chief."

"I will not tell you who I am. I am your prisoner--take me!" Pierre
suddenly replied in French.

"Ah, ah!" muttered the officer with a frown. "Well then, march!"

A crowd had collected round the Uhlans. Nearest to Pierre stood the
pockmarked peasant woman with the little girl, and when the patrol
started she moved forward.

"Where are they taking you to, you poor dear?" said she. "And the little
girl, the little girl, what am I to do with her if she's not theirs?"
said the woman.

"What does that woman want?" asked the officer.

Pierre was as if intoxicated. His elation increased at the sight of the
little girl he had saved.

"What does she want?" he murmured. "She is bringing me my daughter whom
I have just saved from the flames," said he. "Good-by!" And without
knowing how this aimless lie had escaped him, he went along with
resolute and triumphant steps between the French soldiers.

The French patrol was one of those sent out through the various
streets of Moscow by Durosnel's order to put a stop to the pillage,
and especially to catch the incendiaries who, according to the general
opinion which had that day originated among the higher French officers,
were the cause of the conflagrations. After marching through a number
of streets the patrol arrested five more Russian suspects: a small
shopkeeper, two seminary students, a peasant, and a house serf, besides
several looters. But of all these various suspected characters, Pierre
was considered to be the most suspicious of all. When they had all been
brought for the night to a large house on the Zubov Rampart that was
being used as a guardhouse, Pierre was placed apart under strict guard.

BOOK TWELVE: 1812

CHAPTER I

In Petersburg at that time a complicated struggle was being carried on
with greater heat than ever in the highest circles, between the parties
of Rumyantsev, the French, Marya Fedorovna, the Tsarevich, and others,
drowned as usual by the buzzing of the court drones. But the calm,
luxurious life of Petersburg, concerned only about phantoms and
reflections of real life, went on in its old way and made it hard,
except by a great effort, to rea