a knife?" he
said, turning to an officer who wished to cut himself a piece of mutton.

And he handed him his clasp knife. The officer admired it.

"Please keep it. I have several like it," said Petya, blushing.
"Heavens! I was quite forgetting!" he suddenly cried. "I have some
raisins, fine ones; you know, seedless ones. We have a new sutler and
he has such capital things. I bought ten pounds. I am used to something
sweet. Would you like some?..." and Petya ran out into the passage to
his Cossack and brought back some bags which contained about five pounds
of raisins. "Have some, gentlemen, have some!"

"You want a coffeepot, don't you?" he asked the esaul. "I bought a
capital one from our sutler! He has splendid things. And he's very
honest, that's the chief thing. I'll be sure to send it to you. Or
perhaps your flints are giving out, or are worn out--that happens
sometimes, you know. I have brought some with me, here they are"--and he
showed a bag--"a hundred flints. I bought them very cheap. Please take
as many as you want, or all if you like...."

Then suddenly, dismayed lest he had said too much, Petya stopped and
blushed.

He tried to remember whether he had not done anything else that was
foolish. And running over the events of the day he remembered the French
drummer boy. "It's capital for us here, but what of him? Where have they
put him? Have they fed him? Haven't they hurt his feelings?" he thought.
But having caught himself saying too much about the flints, he was now
afraid to speak out.

"I might ask," he thought, "but they'll say: 'He's a boy himself and so
he pities the boy.' I'll show them tomorrow whether I'm a boy. Will it
seem odd if I ask?" Petya thought. "Well, never mind!" and immediately,
blushing and looking anxiously at the officers to see if they appeared
ironical, he said:

"May I call in that boy who was taken prisoner and give him something to
eat?... Perhaps..."

"Yes, he's a poor little fellow," said Denisov, who evidently saw
nothing shameful in this reminder. "Call him in. His name is Vincent
Bosse. Have him fetched."

"I'll call him," said Petya.

"Yes, yes, call him. A poor little fellow," Denisov repeated.

Petya was standing at the door when Denisov said this. He slipped in
between the officers, came close to Denisov, and said:

"Let me kiss you, dear old fellow! Oh, how fine, how splendid!"

And having kissed Denisov he ran out of the hut.

"Bosse! Vincent!" Petya