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Updated: June 20, 2025
"What do you want, my pretty?" said Ilyin with a smile. "The princess ordered me to ask your regiment and your name." "This is Count Rostov, squadron commander, and I am your humble servant." "Co-o-om-pa-ny!" roared the tipsy peasant with a beatific smile as he looked at Ilyin talking to the girl. Following Dunyasha, Alpatych advanced to Rostov, having bared his head while still at a distance.
Sofya Petrovna turned round sharply, and without looking at Ilyin, walked rapidly back along the track. She had regained her self-possession.
A fine struggle! Like milk, I've turned in a day! In one day!" She convicted herself of being tempted, not by feeling, not by Ilyin personally, but by sensations which awaited her . . . an idle lady, having her fling in the summer holidays, like so many! "'Like an unfledged bird when the mother has been slain," sang a husky tenor outside the window.
Like all persons inexperienced in combating unpleasant ideas, Madame Lubyantsev did her utmost not to think of her trouble, and the harder she tried the more vividly Ilyin, the sand on his knees, the fluffy clouds, the train, stood out in her imagination. "And why did I go there this afternoon like a fool?" she thought, tormenting herself.
It pleased her to see this huge, strong man, with his manly, angry face and his big black beard clever, cultivated, and, people said, talented sit down obediently beside her and bow his head dejectedly. For two or three minutes they sat without speaking. "Nothing is settled or done with," began Ilyin. "You repeat copy-book maxims to me.
The rain was descending in torrents, and Rostov, with a young officer named Ilyin, his protege, was sitting in a hastily constructed shelter. An officer of their regiment, with long mustaches extending onto his cheeks, who after riding to the staff had been overtaken by the rain, entered Rostov's shelter. "I have come from the staff, Count. Have you heard of Raevski's exploit?"
He glanced with pity at the excited face of Ilyin, who talked much and in great agitation. He knew from experience the tormenting expectation of terror and death the cornet was suffering and knew that only time could help him.
I am struggling horribly; but what the devil am I good for if I have no backbone, if I am weak, cowardly! I can't struggle with Nature! Do you understand? I cannot! I run away from here, and she holds on to me and pulls me back. Contemptible, loathsome weakness!" Ilyin flushed crimson, got up, and walked up and down by the seat. "I feel as cross as a dog," he muttered, clenching his fists.
She suddenly began to cry. "Excuse me!" she said. Rostov, knitting his brows, left the room with another low bow. "Well, is she pretty? Ah, friend my pink one is delicious; her name is Dunyasha...." But on glancing at Rostov's face Ilyin stopped short. He saw that his hero and commander was following quite a different train of thought.
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