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Updated: May 24, 2025
"He was wounded at Molliten." "Dead, I fancy. Eh, Makeev?" queried the doctor, in a tone of indifference. The assistant, however, did not confirm the doctor's words. "Is he tall and with reddish hair?" asked the doctor. Rostov described Denisov's appearance. "There was one like that," said the doctor, as if pleased. "That one is dead, I fancy. However, I'll look up our list. We had a list.
Have you got it, Makeev?" "Makar Alexeevich has the list," answered the assistant. "But if you'll step into the officers' wards you'll see for yourself," he added, turning to Rostov. "Ah, you'd better not go, sir," said the doctor, "or you may have to stay here yourself." But Rostov bowed himself away from the doctor and asked the assistant to show him the way.
Two sergeants major were sitting with them and their campfire blazed brighter than others. For leave to sit by their wattle they demanded contributions of fuel. "Eh, Makeev! What has become of you, you son of a bitch? Are you lost or have the wolves eaten you?
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