mouth and flew out involuntarily he went on: "How was it, sir, that you
stayed in Moscow?"

"I didn't think they would come so soon. I stayed accidentally," replied
Pierre.

"And how did they arrest you, dear lad? At your house?"

"No, I went to look at the fire, and they arrested me there, and tried
me as an incendiary."

"Where there's law there's injustice," put in the little man.

"And have you been here long?" Pierre asked as he munched the last of
the potato.

"I? It was last Sunday they took me, out of a hospital in Moscow."

"Why, are you a soldier then?"

"Yes, we are soldiers of the Apsheron regiment. I was dying of fever. We
weren't told anything. There were some twenty of us lying there. We had
no idea, never guessed at all."

"And do you feel sad here?" Pierre inquired.

"How can one help it, lad? My name is Platon, and the surname is
Karataev," he added, evidently wishing to make it easier for Pierre to
address him. "They call me 'little falcon' in the regiment. How is one
to help feeling sad? Moscow--she's the mother of cities. How can one see
all this and not feel sad? But 'the maggot gnaws the cabbage, yet dies
first'; that's what the old folks used to tell us," he added rapidly.

"What? What did you say?" asked Pierre.

"Who? I?" said Karataev. "I say things happen not as we plan but as God
judges," he replied, thinking that he was repeating what he had said
before, and immediately continued:

"Well, and you, have you a family estate, sir? And a house? So you have
abundance, then? And a housewife? And your old parents, are they still
living?" he asked.

And though it was too dark for Pierre to see, he felt that a suppressed
smile of kindliness puckered the soldier's lips as he put these
questions. He seemed grieved that Pierre had no parents, especially that
he had no mother.

"A wife for counsel, a mother-in-law for welcome, but there's none as
dear as one's own mother!" said he. "Well, and have you little ones?" he
went on asking.

Again Pierre's negative answer seemed to distress him, and he hastened
to add:

"Never mind! You're young folks yet, and please God may still have some.
The great thing is to live in harmony...."

"But it's all the same now," Pierre could not help saying.

"Ah, my dear fellow!" rejoined Karataev, "never decline a prison or a
beggar's sack!"

He seated himself more comfortably and coughed, evidently preparing to
tell a long story.

"Well, my de