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Updated: May 10, 2025
He knew that this tale redounded to the glory of our arms and so one had to pretend not to doubt it. And he acted accordingly. "I can't stand this any more," said Ilyin, noticing that Rostov did not relish Zdrzhinski's conversation. "My stockings and shirt... and the water is running on my seat! I'll go and look for shelter. The rain seems less heavy." Ilyin went out and Zdrzhinski rode away.
Malvintseva expressed approval, and the governor's wife began to speak of Rostov in Mary's presence, praising him and telling how he had blushed when Princess Mary's name was mentioned. But Princess Mary experienced a painful rather than a joyful feeling her mental tranquillity was destroyed, and desires, doubts, self-reproach, and hopes reawoke.
"Eh, is anything hurting you?" asked the soldier, shaking his shirt out over the fire, and not waiting for an answer he gave a grunt and added: "What a lot of men have been crippled today frightful!" Rostov did not listen to the soldier.
"A good figure and in her first bloom," he was saying, but on seeing Rostov, he stopped short and frowned. "What is it? A petition?" "What is it?" asked the person in the other room. "Another petitioner," answered the man with the braces. "Tell him to come later. He'll be coming out directly, we must go." "Later... later! Tomorrow. It's too late..."
"Wait till tomorrow morning, we'll find out everything tomorrow." "The picket is still on the hill, your excellency, just where it was in the evening," reported Rostov, stooping forward with his hand at the salute and unable to repress the smile of delight induced by his ride and especially by the sound of the bullets. "Very good, very good," said Bagration. "Thank you, officer."
Is it not so, gentlemen? Perhaps I am not saying it right, I have drunk a good deal but that is how I feel, and so do you too! To the health of Alexander the First! Hurrah!" "Hurrah!" rang the enthusiastic voices of the officers. And the old cavalry captain, Kirsten, shouted enthusiastically and no less sincerely than the twenty-year-old Rostov.
Two were misdirected and the shot went too high, but the last round fell in the midst of a group of hussars and knocked three of them over. Rostov, absorbed by his relations with Bogdanich, had paused on the bridge not knowing what to do.
Rook tried to rise on his forelegs but fell back, pinning his rider's leg. Blood was flowing from his head; he struggled but could not rise. Rostov also tried to rise but fell back, his sabretache having become entangled in the saddle. Where our men were, and where the French, he did not know. There was no one near. Having disentangled his leg, he rose.
Boris, with one leg crossed over the other and stroking his left hand with the slender fingers of his right, listened to Rostov as a general listens to the report of a subordinate, now looking aside and now gazing straight into Rostov's eyes with the same veiled look. Each time this happened Rostov felt uncomfortable and cast down his eyes.
Bagration called to him from the hill not to go beyond the stream, but Rostov pretended not to hear him and did not stop but rode on and on, continually mistaking bushes for trees and gullies for men and continually discovering his mistakes. Having descended the hill at a trot, he no longer saw either our own or the enemy's fires, but heard the shouting of the French more loudly and distinctly.
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