enched, whose trousers had worked up to above his knees. Behind him,
standing in the stirrups, trotted a Cossack. The officer, a very young
lad with a broad rosy face and keen merry eyes, galloped up to Denisov
and handed him a sodden envelope.

"From the general," said the officer. "Please excuse its not being quite
dry."

Denisov, frowning, took the envelope and opened it.

"There, they kept telling us: 'It's dangerous, it's dangerous,'"
said the officer, addressing the esaul while Denisov was reading
the dispatch. "But Komarov and I"--he pointed to the Cossack--"were
prepared. We have each of us two pistols.... But what's this?" he asked,
noticing the French drummer boy. "A prisoner? You've already been in
action? May I speak to him?"

"Wostov! Petya!" exclaimed Denisov, having run through the dispatch.
"Why didn't you say who you were?" and turning with a smile he held out
his hand to the lad.

The officer was Petya Rostov.

All the way Petya had been preparing himself to behave with Denisov as
befitted a grownup man and an officer--without hinting at their previous
acquaintance. But as soon as Denisov smiled at him Petya brightened
up, blushed with pleasure, forgot the official manner he had been
rehearsing, and began telling him how he had already been in a battle
near Vyazma and how a certain hussar had distinguished himself there.

"Well, I am glad to see you," Denisov interrupted him, and his face
again assumed its anxious expression.

"Michael Feoklitych," said he to the esaul, "this is again fwom that
German, you know. He"--he indicated Petya--"is serving under him."

And Denisov told the esaul that the dispatch just delivered was a
repetition of the German general's demand that he should join forces
with him for an attack on the transport.

"If we don't take it tomowwow, he'll snatch it fwom under our noses," he
added.

While Denisov was talking to the esaul, Petya--abashed by Denisov's
cold tone and supposing that it was due to the condition of his
trousers--furtively tried to pull them down under his greatcoat so
that no one should notice it, while maintaining as martial an air as
possible.

"Will there be any orders, your honor?" he asked Denisov, holding his
hand at the salute and resuming the game of adjutant and general for
which he had prepared himself, "or shall I remain with your honor?"

"Orders?" Denisov repeated thoughtfully. "But can you stay till
tomowwow?"

"Oh, please... Ma