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"
He
wants
to
see
a
battle
,
"
said
Zherkóv
to
Bolkónski
,
pointing
to
the
accountant
,
"
but
he
feels
a
pain
in
the
pit
of
his
stomach
already
.
"
"
Oh
,
leave
off
!
"
said
the
accountant
with
a
beaming
but
rather
cunning
smile
,
as
if
flattered
at
being
made
the
subject
of
Zherkóv
's
joke
,
and
purposely
trying
to
appear
stupider
than
he
really
was
.
"
It
is
very
strange
,
mon
Monsieur
Prince
,
"
said
the
staff
officer
.
(
He
remembered
that
in
French
there
is
some
peculiar
way
of
addressing
a
prince
,
but
could
not
get
it
quite
right
.
)
By
this
time
they
were
all
approaching
Túshin
's
battery
,
and
a
ball
struck
the
ground
in
front
of
them
.
"
What
's
that
that
has
fallen
?
"
asked
the
accountant
with
a
naïve
smile
.
"
A
French
pancake
,
"
answered
Zherkóv
.
"
So
that
's
what
they
hit
with
?
"
asked
the
accountant
.
"
How
awful
!
"
He
seemed
to
swell
with
satisfaction
.
He
had
hardly
finished
speaking
when
they
again
heard
an
unexpectedly
violent
whistling
which
suddenly
ended
with
a
thud
into
something
soft
...
f-f-flop
!
and
a
Cossack
,
riding
a
little
to
their
right
and
behind
the
accountant
,
crashed
to
earth
with
his
horse
.
Zherkóv
and
the
staff
officer
bent
over
their
saddles
and
turned
their
horses
away
.
The
accountant
stopped
,
facing
the
Cossack
,
and
examined
him
with
attentive
curiosity
.
The
Cossack
was
dead
,
but
the
horse
still
struggled
.
Prince
Bagratión
screwed
up
his
eyes
,
looked
round
,
and
,
seeing
the
cause
of
the
confusion
,
turned
away
with
indifference
,
as
if
to
say
,
"
Is
it
worth
while
noticing
trifles
?
"
He
reined
in
his
horse
with
the
care
of
a
skillful
rider
and
,
slightly
bending
over
,
disengaged
his
saber
which
had
caught
in
his
cloak
.
It
was
an
old-fashioned
saber
of
a
kind
no
longer
in
general
use
.
Prince
Andrew
remembered
the
story
of
Suvórov
giving
his
saber
to
Bagratión
in
Italy
,
and
the
recollection
was
particularly
pleasant
at
that
moment
.
They
had
reached
the
battery
at
which
Prince
Andrew
had
been
when
he
examined
the
battlefield
.
