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"
Hardly
,
"
said
Bagratión
.
"
I
saw
them
this
evening
on
that
knoll
;
if
they
had
retreated
they
would
have
withdrawn
from
that
too
...
Officer
!
"
said
Bagratión
to
Rostóv
,
"
are
the
enemy
's
skirmishers
still
there
?
"
"
They
were
there
this
evening
,
but
now
I
do
n't
know
,
your
excellency
.
Shall
I
go
with
some
of
my
hussars
to
see
?
"
replied
Rostóv
.
Bagratión
stopped
and
,
before
replying
,
tried
to
see
Rostóv
's
face
in
the
mist
.
"
Well
,
go
and
see
,
"
he
said
,
after
a
pause
.
"
Yes
,
sir
.
"
Rostóv
spurred
his
horse
,
called
to
Sergeant
Fédchenko
and
two
other
hussars
,
told
them
to
follow
him
,
and
trotted
downhill
in
the
direction
from
which
the
shouting
came
.
He
felt
both
frightened
and
pleased
to
be
riding
alone
with
three
hussars
into
that
mysterious
and
dangerous
misty
distance
where
no
one
had
been
before
him
.
Bagratión
called
to
him
from
the
hill
not
to
go
beyond
the
stream
,
but
Rostóv
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
.
In
the
valley
he
saw
before
him
something
like
a
river
,
but
when
he
reached
it
he
found
it
was
a
road
.
Having
come
out
onto
the
road
he
reined
in
his
horse
,
hesitating
whether
to
ride
along
it
or
cross
it
and
ride
over
the
black
field
up
the
hillside
.
To
keep
to
the
road
which
gleamed
white
in
the
mist
would
have
been
safer
because
it
would
be
easier
to
see
people
coming
along
it
.
"
Follow
me
!
"
said
he
,
crossed
the
road
,
and
began
riding
up
the
hill
at
a
gallop
toward
the
point
where
the
French
pickets
had
been
standing
that
evening
.
"
Your
honor
,
there
he
is
!
"
cried
one
of
the
hussars
behind
him
.
And
before
Rostóv
had
time
to
make
out
what
the
black
thing
was
that
had
suddenly
appeared
in
the
fog
,
there
was
a
flash
,
followed
by
a
report
,
and
a
bullet
whizzing
high
up
in
the
mist
with
a
plaintive
sound
passed
out
of
hearing
.
Another
musket
missed
fire
but
flashed
in
the
pan
.
Rostóv
turned
his
horse
and
galloped
back
.
Four
more
reports
followed
at
intervals
,
and
the
bullets
passed
somewhere
in
the
fog
singing
in
different
tones
.
Rostóv
reined
in
his
horse
,
whose
spirits
had
risen
,
like
his
own
,
at
the
firing
,
and
went
back
at
a
footpace
.
"
Well
,
some
more
!
Some
more
!
"
a
merry
voice
was
saying
in
his
soul
.
But
no
more
shots
came
.
Only
when
approaching
Bagratión
did
Rostóv
let
his
horse
gallop
again
,
and
with
his
hand
at
the
salute
rode
up
to
the
general
.
