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I am fearfully done up! And, as ill-luck would have it, not a fly to be seen." "Petya, my dear fellow. . . . I can't. . . . I feel like dying if I'm not in bed in five minutes." "In bed! Don't you think it, my boy! First we'll have supper and a glass of red wine, and then you can go to bed. Verotchka and I will wake you up. . . . Ah, my dear fellow, it's a fine thing to be married!
Petya too would have run there, but the clerk who had taken the young gentleman under his protection stopped him. The firing was still proceeding when officers, generals, and gentlemen-in-waiting came running out of the cathedral, and after them others in a more leisurely manner: caps were again raised, and those who had run to look at the cannon ran back again.
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.
"The island of Madagascar," she said, "Ma-da-gas-car," she repeated, articulating each syllable distinctly, and, not replying to Madame Schoss who asked her what she was saying, she went out of the room. Her brother Petya was upstairs too; with the man in attendance on him he was preparing fireworks to let off that night. "Petya! Petya!" she called to him. "Carry me downstairs."
They looked at each other with dismayed and embarrassed faces. He tried to smile but could not: his smile expressed suffering, and he silently kissed her hand and went out. Pierre made up his mind not to go to the Rostovs' any more. After the definite refusal he had received, Petya went to his room and there locked himself in and wept bitterly.
All the way Petya had been preparing himself to behave with Denisov as befitted a grownup man and an officer without hinting at their previous acquaintance.
He was preparing to enter the university, but he and his friend Obolenski had lately, in secret, agreed to join the hussars. Petya had come rushing out to talk to his namesake about this affair. He had asked Pierre to find out whether he would be accepted in the hussars. Pierre walked up and down the drawing room, not listening to what Petya was saying.
Father!..." cried the crowd, and Petya with it, and again the women and men of weaker mold, Petya among them, wept with joy. A largish piece of the biscuit the Emperor was holding in his hand broke off, fell on the balcony parapet, and then to the ground. A coachman in a jerkin, who stood nearest, sprang forward and snatched it up. Several people in the crowd rushed at the coachman.
Zaikin got up, threw on his dressing-gown, and taking his pillow, crept wearily to the study. . . . Feeling his way to his sofa, he lighted a match, and saw Petya lying on the sofa. The boy was not asleep, and, looking at the match with wide-open eyes: "Father, why is it gnats don't go to sleep at night?" he asked.
"Good evening, gentlemen," said Dolokhov. Petya wished to say "Good night" but could not utter a word. The officers were whispering together. Dolokhov was a long time mounting his horse which would not stand still, then he rode out of the yard at a footpace. Petya rode beside him, longing to look round to see whether or not the French were running after them, but not daring to.
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