THE ASSISTANT walked along the corridor and led Rostov to the officers' wards, three rooms with doors opening between them. In these rooms there were bedsteads; the officers were sitting and lying upon them. Some were walking about the room in hospital dressing-gowns. The first person who met Rostov in the officers' ward was a thin little man who had lost one arm. He was walking about the first room in a nightcap and hospital dressing-gown, with a short pipe between his teeth. Rostov, looking intently at him, tried to recall where he had seen him.

“See where it was God's will for us to meet again,” said the little man. “Tushin, Tushin, do you remember I brought you along after Sch?ngraben? They have sliced a bit off me, see,…” said he smiling, and showing the empty sleeve of his dressing-gown. “Is it Vassily Dmitryevitch Denisov you are looking for—a fellow-lodger here?” he said, hearing who it was Rostov wanted. “Here, here,” and he led him into the next room, from which there came the sound of several men laughing. “How can they live in this place even, much less laugh?” thought Rostov, still aware of that corpse-like smell that had been so overpowering in the soldiers' ward, and still seeing around him those envious eyes following him on both sides, and the face of that young soldier with the sunken eyes.

Denisov, covered up to his head with the quilt, was still in bed, though it was twelve o'clock in the day.

“Ah, Rostov! How are you, how are you?” he shouted, still in the same voice as in the regiment. But Rostov noticed with grief, behind this habitual briskness and swagger, some new, sinister, smothered feeling that peeped out in the words and intonations and the expression of the face of Denisov.

His wound, trifling as it was, had still not healed, though six weeks had passed since he was wounded. His face had the same swollen pallor as all the faces in the hospital. But that was not what struck Rostov: what struck him was that Denisov did not seem pleased to see him, and his smile was forced. Denisov asked him nothing either of the regiment or of the general progress of the war. When Rostov talked of it, Denisov did not listen.

Rostov even noticed that Denisov disliked all reference to the regiment, and to that other free life going on outside the hospital walls. He seemed to be trying to forget that old life, and to be interested only in his quarrel with the commissariat officials. In reply to Rostov's inquiry as to how this matter was going, he promptly drew from under his pillow a communication he had received from the commissioner, and a rough copy of his answer. He grew more eager as he began to read his answer, and specially called Rostov's attention to the biting sarcasm with which he addressed his foes. Denisov's companions in the hospital, who had gathered round Rostov, as a person newly come from the world of freedom outside, gradually began to move away as soon as Denisov began reading his answer. From their faces Rostov surmised that all these gentlemen had more than once heard the whole story, and had had time to be bored with it. Only his nearest neighbour, a stout Uhlan, sat on his pallet-bed, scowling gloomily and smoking a pipe, and little one-armed Tushin still listened, shaking his head disapprovingly. In the middle of the reading the Uhlan interrupted Denisov.

“What I say is,” he said, turning to Rostov, “he ought simply to petition the Emperor for pardon. Just now, they say, there will be great rewards given and they will surely pardon.”

“Me petition the Emperor!” said Denisov in a voice into which he tried to throw his old energy and fire, but which sounded like the expression of impotent irritability. “What for? If I had been a robber, I'd beg for mercy; why, I'm being called up for trying to show up robbers. Let them try me, I'm not afraid of any one; I have served my Tsar and my country honestly, and I'm not a thief! And degrade me to the ranks and … Listen, I tell them straight out, see, I write to them, ‘If I had been a thief of government property…' ”

“It's neatly put, no question about it,” said Tushin. “But that's not the point, Vassily Dmitritch,” he too turned to Rostov, “one must submit, and Vassily Dmitritch here won't do it. The auditor told you, you know, that it looks serious for you.”

“Well, let it be serious,” said Denisov.

“The auditor wrote a petition for you,” Tushin went on, “and you ought to sign it and despatch it by this gentleman. No doubt he” (he indicated Rostov) “has influence on the staff too. You won't find a better opportunity.”

“But I have said I won't go cringing and fawning,” Denisov interrupted, and he went on reading his answer.

Rostov did not dare to try and persuade Denisov, though he felt instinctively that the course proposed by Tushin and the other officers was the safest. He would have felt happy if he could have been of assistance to Denisov, but he knew his stubborn will and straightforward hasty temper.

When the reading of Denisov's biting replies, which lasted over an hour, was over, Rostov said nothing, and in the most dejected frame of mind spent the rest of the day in the society of Denisov's companions, who had again gathered about him. He told them what he knew, and listened to the stories told by others. Denisov maintained a gloomy silence the whole evening.

Late in the evening, when Rostov was about to leave, he asked Denisov if he had no commission for him.

“Yes, wait a bit,” said Denisov. He looked round at the officers, and taking his papers from under his pillow, he went to the window where there was an inkstand, and sat down to write.

“It seems it's no good knocking one's head against a stone wall,” said he, coming from the window and giving Rostov a large envelope. It was the petition addressed to the Emperor that had been drawn up by the auditor. In it Denisov, making no reference to the shortcoming of the commissariat department, simply begged for mercy. “Give it, it seems…” He did not finish, and smiled a forced and sickly smile.

穿过走廊后，医士把罗斯托夫领进军官病房，病房有三个房间，房门都是敞开的。在这些房间里摆着几张床铺，负伤的和生病的军官在床上躺着或坐着。有几个人身穿病人服在房里踱来踱去。罗斯托夫在军官病房里遇见的头一个人是个身材矮小的瘦骨嶙峋的独臂的人，他戴着睡帽、穿着病人服，嘴角上叨着烟斗，在第一间房里踱来踱去。罗斯托夫详察着他，极力地想回忆起他在什么地方见过他。

“没有料到在这儿遇见啦，”身材矮小的人说，“您还记得图申、图申是我把您领到申格拉本吗？您瞧，砍掉了我这一小块……”他面露微笑，把那只空空的袖筒拿给罗斯托夫看时这样说，“您是找瓦西里·德米特里耶维奇·杰尼索夫吗？——住在一起的人啊！”他知道罗斯托夫要找谁时说，“在这儿，在这儿。”于是图申就把他领进另一间房里，从房里传出几个人的哈哈大笑声。

“他们怎么能够在这儿不仅哈哈大笑，而且活得下去呢？”罗斯托夫想道，他还闻到在士兵病院闻够了的尸体的气味，他还从周围望见那两边伴送他的妒嫉的目光和这个痛苦得翻白眼的青年士兵的面孔。

虽然是上午十一点多钟，但杰尼索夫还用被子蒙着头，睡在床上。

“啊，罗斯托夫！你好，你好！”他喊道，那嗓音仍像平常他在兵团中说话时用的嗓音一样，但罗斯托夫忧愁地觉察到，他还怀有地所惯有的放肆而活跃的心态，但是他的面部表情、语调和谈吐却流露出前所未有的、隐藏在内心深处的难堪的情感。

尽管他负伤以后已经过了六个礼拜，伤势并不太严重，但是还没有愈合。他的脸苍白而且浮肿，住军医院的伤病员都和他一样。但使罗斯托夫感到惊奇的不是这件事，使他感到惊奇的是，杰尼索夫看见他，好像很不高兴，对他流露出不自然的微笑。杰尼索夫既不询问兵团的情形，也不询问战事的进程。当罗斯托夫谈论此事的时候，杰尼索夫不听他说话。

罗斯托夫甚至发现，在向杰尼索夫提起兵团的情形，总之是向他提起军医院以外的另一种自由生活的时候，他就觉得很不高兴。他好像力图忘怀过去的生活，只是关心他和军粮官的那个案子。为了回答罗斯托夫询及的案情，他立即从枕头下面拿出一份他从委员会方面接到的公文和他草拟的答复。他变得兴奋起来，开始念这份公文，尤其是要罗斯托夫注意他在公文中对自己敌人说的这些讽刺的话。那些住院的杰尼索夫的伙伴，原先把罗斯托夫——新近从自由世界走来的人物——围在中间，但一当杰尼索夫开始念他的这份公文，他们就渐渐走开。罗斯托夫凭他们的脸色心里就明白，这些先生不止一次地听过使他们厌恶的整个故事。只有邻床的十分肥胖的枪骑兵阴郁地皱起眉头，坐在自己的病床上抽烟斗，身材矮小的独臂的图申继续听他讲故事，不以为然地摇摇头，念到半中间的时候，枪骑兵打断杰尼索夫的话。

“在我看来，”他把脸转向罗斯托夫说，“索性请求国王赦免。听说，眼前颁发的奖赏更多，大概能够得到饶恕的……”

“我要去请求国王！”杰尼索夫说，他本想使他自己的嗓音赋有从前的激昂和劲头，但是听来却是无益的急躁。“请求什么呢？如果我是个土匪，我是会请求施恩的，可是我受到审判是因为我揭露了一些土匪。让他们公审，我不畏惧什么人；我诚实地为沙皇、为祖国效劳，没有盗窃行为！竟把我革职……你听着，我就直言不讳地禀奏，我禀奏：如果我是盗窃国库者……”

“写得真妙，没有什么可说的，”图申说，“可是问题不在那里，瓦西里，德米特里奇，”他也对罗斯托夫说，“应当顺从，您瞧，瓦西里·德米特里奇不愿意。要知道，检察官对您说过，您的案情很糟糕。”

“让它糟糕吧。”杰尼索夫说。

“检察官替您写了奏帖。”图申继续说，“总得签个字，就由他送去。想必（他指了指罗斯托夫）他在司令部也有靠山。

您找不到更好的机会。”

“我不是说了，我不想卑躬屈节。”杰尼索夫打断他的话，又继续念他自己的那份公文。

罗斯托夫不敢规劝杰尼索夫，虽然他本能地感觉到，图申和其他几名军官提出的途径是最正确的，只要他能够帮助杰尼索夫，他就会认为自己是幸福的，因为他知道杰尼索夫的百折不回的意志和他这个老实人的急躁脾气。

杰尼索夫连续读了一个多钟头才把这几份写得恶毒的公文读完了，罗斯托夫怀着愁闷的心情，没有说什么，好几个住院的杰尼索夫的伙伴又在他周围聚集起来，罗斯托夫一面叙述他所知道的情形，一面倾听旁人的叙述，在他们之中度过了这天剩下的时光。杰尼索夫整个晚上心情忧悒，不吭一声。

罗斯托夫深夜想启程，问了问杰尼索夫，有没有委托他办的事情？

“是啊，请你等一下。”杰尼索夫朝着军官们瞥了一眼，说道，他从自己枕头下面拿出公文来，走到那摆着他的墨水瓶的窗前，坐下来写呈文。

“看来，鞭子是打不断斧头背的。”他从窗前走开，把一个大信封交给罗斯托夫时说道。这是检察官拟就的送呈国王的禀帖，杰尼索夫在其禀帖中只字未提及军粮管理处的过失，只是请求予以赦免。

“请你转交吧，看来……”他没有把话说完，病态地虚伪地微微一笑。