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Updated: June 14, 2025
All the officers and men of Denisov's squadron, though they tried to talk of other things and to look in other directions, thought only of what was there on the hilltop, and kept constantly looking at the patches appearing on the skyline, which they knew to be the enemy's troops.
When on the twenty-first of October his general expressed a wish to send somebody to Denisov's detachment, Petya begged so piteously to be sent that the general could not refuse.
Hullo, who's there?" he said, turning to the door as he heard a tread of heavy boots and the clinking of spurs that came to a stop, and a respectful cough. "The squadron quartermaster!" said Lavrushka. Denisov's face puckered still more. "Wetched!" he muttered, throwing down a purse with some gold in it.
"What about your master?" he asked Lavrushka, Denisov's orderly, whom all the regiment knew for a rogue. "Hasn't been in since the evening. Must have been losing," answered Lavrushka. "I know by now, if he wins he comes back early to brag about it, but if he stays out till morning it means he's lost and will come back in a rage. Will you have coffee?" "Yes, bring some."
At dawn on the sixteenth of November, Denisov's squadron, in which Nicholas Rostov served and which was in Prince Bagration's detachment, moved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing into action as arranged, and after going behind other columns for about two thirds of a mile was stopped on the highroad.
In the midst of the outspread line of Cossacks two wagons, drawn by French horses and by saddled Cossack horses that had been hitched on in front, rumbled over the tree stumps and branches and splashed through the water that lay in the ruts. Denisov's horse swerved aside to avoid a pool in the track and bumped his rider's knee against a tree.
He could hear that Lavrushka that sly, bold orderly of Denisov's was talking, as well as the quartermaster. Lavrushka was saying something about loaded wagons, biscuits, and oxen he had seen when he had gone out for provisions. Then Denisov's voice was heard shouting farther and farther away. "Saddle! Second platoon!" "Where are they off to now?" thought Rostov.
He did not wish to stay another day in Moscow. All Denisov's Moscow friends gave him a farewell entertainment at the gypsies', with the result that he had no recollection of how he was put in the sleigh or of the first three stages of his journey.
When Rostov asked what was the matter, he only uttered some incoherent oaths and threats in a hoarse, feeble voice. Alarmed at Denisov's condition, Rostov suggested that he should undress, drink some water, and send for the doctor. "Twy me for wobbewy... oh! Some more water... Let them twy me, but I'll always thwash scoundwels... and I'll tell the Empewo'... Ice..." he muttered.
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.
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