not be unworthy even of such company.

Dolokhov's appearance amazed Petya by its simplicity.

Denisov wore a Cossack coat, had a beard, had an icon of Nicholas the
Wonder-Worker on his breast, and his way of speaking and everything he
did indicated his unusual position. But Dolokhov, who in Moscow had worn
a Persian costume, had now the appearance of a most correct officer of
the Guards. He was clean-shaven and wore a Guardsman's padded coat with
an Order of St. George at his buttonhole and a plain forage cap set
straight on his head. He took off his wet felt cloak in a corner of
the room, and without greeting anyone went up to Denisov and began
questioning him about the matter in hand. Denisov told him of the
designs the large detachments had on the transport, of the message Petya
had brought, and his own replies to both generals. Then he told him all
he knew of the French detachment.

"That's so. But we must know what troops they are and their numbers,"
said Dolokhov. "It will be necessary to go there. We can't start the
affair without knowing for certain how many there are. I like to work
accurately. Here now--wouldn't one of these gentlemen like to ride over
to the French camp with me? I have brought a spare uniform."

"I, I... I'll go with you!" cried Petya.

"There's no need for you to go at all," said Denisov, addressing
Dolokhov, "and as for him, I won't let him go on any account."

"I like that!" exclaimed Petya. "Why shouldn't I go?"

"Because it's useless."

"Well, you must excuse me, because... because... I shall go, and that's
all. You'll take me, won't you?" he said, turning to Dolokhov.

"Why not?" Dolokhov answered absently, scrutinizing the face of the
French drummer boy. "Have you had that youngster with you long?" he
asked Denisov.

"He was taken today but he knows nothing. I'm keeping him with me."

"Yes, and where do you put the others?" inquired Dolokhov.

"Where? I send them away and take a weceipt for them," shouted Denisov,
suddenly flushing. "And I say boldly that I have not a single man's life
on my conscience. Would it be difficult for you to send thirty or
thwee hundwed men to town under escort, instead of staining--I speak
bluntly--staining the honor of a soldier?"

"That kind of amiable talk would be suitable from this young count of
sixteen," said Dolokhov with cold irony, "but it's time for you to drop
it."

"Why, I've not said anything! I only say that I'll certainly go