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There
was
not
a
room
to
be
had
at
the
inn
,
they
were
all
occupied
.
Pierre
went
out
into
the
yard
and
,
covering
himself
up
head
and
all
,
lay
down
in
his
carriage
.
Scarcely
had
Pierre
laid
his
head
on
the
pillow
before
he
felt
himself
falling
asleep
,
but
suddenly
,
almost
with
the
distinctness
of
reality
,
he
heard
the
boom
,
boom
,
boom
of
firing
,
the
thud
of
projectiles
,
groans
and
cries
,
and
smelled
blood
and
powder
,
and
a
feeling
of
horror
and
dread
of
death
seized
him
.
Filled
with
fright
he
opened
his
eyes
and
lifted
his
head
from
under
his
cloak
.
All
was
tranquil
in
the
yard
.
Only
someone
's
orderly
passed
through
the
gateway
,
splashing
through
the
mud
,
and
talked
to
the
innkeeper
.
Above
Pierre
's
head
some
pigeons
,
disturbed
by
the
movement
he
had
made
in
sitting
up
,
fluttered
under
the
dark
roof
of
the
penthouse
.
The
whole
courtyard
was
permeated
by
a
strong
peaceful
smell
of
stable
yards
,
delightful
to
Pierre
at
that
moment
.
He
could
see
the
clear
starry
sky
between
the
dark
roofs
of
two
penthouses
.
"
Thank
God
,
there
is
no
more
of
that
!
"
he
thought
,
covering
up
his
head
again
.
"
Oh
,
what
a
terrible
thing
is
fear
,
and
how
shamefully
I
yielded
to
it
!
But
they
...
they
were
steady
and
calm
all
the
time
,
to
the
end
...
"
thought
he
.
They
,
in
Pierre
's
mind
,
were
the
soldiers
,
those
who
had
been
at
the
battery
,
those
who
had
given
him
food
,
and
those
who
had
prayed
before
the
icon
.
They
,
those
strange
men
he
had
not
previously
known
,
stood
out
clearly
and
sharply
from
everyone
else
.
"
To
be
a
soldier
,
just
a
soldier
!
"
thought
Pierre
as
he
fell
asleep
,
"
to
enter
communal
life
completely
,
to
be
imbued
by
what
makes
them
what
they
are
.
But
how
to
cast
off
all
the
superfluous
,
devilish
burden
of
my
outer
man
?
There
was
a
time
when
I
could
have
done
it
.
I
could
have
run
away
from
my
father
,
as
I
wanted
to
.
Or
I
might
have
been
sent
to
serve
as
a
soldier
after
the
duel
with
Dólokhov
.
"
And
the
memory
of
the
dinner
at
the
English
Club
when
he
had
challenged
Dólokhov
flashed
through
Pierre
's
mind
,
and
then
he
remembered
his
benefactor
at
Torzhók
.
And
now
a
picture
of
a
solemn
meeting
of
the
lodge
presented
itself
to
his
mind
.
It
was
taking
place
at
the
English
Club
and
someone
near
and
dear
to
him
sat
at
the
end
of
the
table
.
"
Yes
,
that
is
he
!
It
is
my
benefactor
.
But
he
died
!
"
thought
Pierre
.
"
Yes
,
he
died
,
and
I
did
not
know
he
was
alive
.
How
sorry
I
am
that
he
died
,
and
how
glad
I
am
that
he
is
alive
again
!
"
On
one
side
of
the
table
sat
Anatole
,
Dólokhov
,
Nesvítski
,
Denísov
,
and
others
like
them
(
in
his
dream
the
category
to
which
these
men
belonged
was
as
clearly
defined
in
his
mind
as
the
category
of
those
he
termed
they
)
,
and
he
heard
those
people
,
Anatole
and
Dólokhov
,
shouting
and
singing
loudly
;
yet
through
their
shouting
the
voice
of
his
benefactor
was
heard
speaking
all
the
time
and
the
sound
of
his
words
was
as
weighty
and
uninterrupted
as
the
booming
on
the
battlefield
,
but
pleasant
and
comforting
.
Pierre
did
not
understand
what
his
benefactor
was
saying
,
but
he
knew
(
the
categories
of
thoughts
were
also
quite
distinct
in
his
dream
)
that
he
was
talking
of
goodness
and
the
possibility
of
being
what
they
were
.
And
they
with
their
simple
,
kind
,
firm
faces
surrounded
his
benefactor
on
all
sides
.
But
though
they
were
kindly
they
did
not
look
at
Pierre
and
did
not
know
him
.
Wishing
to
speak
and
to
attract
their
attention
,
he
got
up
,
but
at
that
moment
his
legs
grew
cold
and
bare
.
He
felt
ashamed
,
and
with
one
arm
covered
his
legs
from
which
his
cloak
had
in
fact
slipped
.
For
a
moment
as
he
was
rearranging
his
cloak
Pierre
opened
his
eyes
and
saw
the
same
penthouse
roofs
,
posts
,
and
yard
,
but
now
they
were
all
bluish
,
lit
up
,
and
glittering
with
frost
or
dew
.
"
It
is
dawn
,
"
thought
Pierre
.
"
But
that
's
not
what
I
want
.
I
want
to
hear
and
understand
my
benefactor
's
words
.
"
Again
he
covered
himself
up
with
his
cloak
,
but
now
neither
the
lodge
nor
his
benefactor
was
there
.
There
were
only
thoughts
clearly
expressed
in
words
,
thoughts
that
someone
was
uttering
or
that
he
himself
was
formulating
.
Afterwards
when
he
recalled
those
thoughts
Pierre
was
convinced
that
someone
outside
himself
had
spoken
them
,
though
the
impressions
of
that
day
had
evoked
them
.
He
had
never
,
it
seemed
to
him
,
been
able
to
think
and
express
his
thoughts
like
that
when
awake
.
