HAVING INWARDLY RESOLVED that until the execution of his design, he ought to disguise his station and his knowledge of French, Pierre stood at the half-open door into the corridor, intending to conceal himself at once as soon as the French entered. But the French entered, and Pierre did not leave the door; and irresistible curiosity kept him there.
There were two of them. One—an officer, a tall, handsome man of gallant bearing; the other, obviously a soldier or officer's servant, a squat, thin, sunburnt man, with hollow cheeks and a dull expression. The officer walked first, limping and leaning on a stick. After advancing a few steps, the officer apparently making up his mind that these would be good quarters, stopped, turned round and shouted in a loud, peremptory voice to the soldiers standing in the doorway to put up the horses. Having done this the officer, with a jaunty gesture, crooking his elbow high in the air, stroked his moustaches and put his hand to his hat.
“Bonjour, la compagnie!” he said gaily, smiling and looking about him.
No one made any reply.
“Vous êtes le bourgeois?” the officer asked, addressing Gerasim.
Gerasim looked back with scared inquiry at the officer.
“Quartire, quartire, logement,” said the officer, looking down with a condescending and good-humoured smile at the little man. “The French are good lads. Don't let us be cross, old fellow,” he went on in French, clapping the scared and mute Gerasim on the shoulder. “I say, does no one speak French in this establishment?” he added, looking round and meeting Pierre's eyes. Pierre withdrew from the door.
The officer turned again to Gerasim. He asked him to show him over the house.
“Master not here—no understand … me you …” said Gerasim, trying to make his words more comprehensible by saying them in reverse order.
The French officer, smiling, waved his hands in front of Gerasim's nose, to give him to understand that he too failed to understand him, and walked with a limp towards the door where Pierre was standing. Pierre was about to retreat to conceal himself from him, but at that very second he caught sight of Makar Alexyevitch peeping out of the open kitchen door with a pistol in his hand. With a madman's cunning, Makar Alexyevitch eyed the Frenchmen, and lifting the pistol, took aim. “Run them down!!!” yelled the drunkard, pressing the trigger. The French officer turned round at the scream, and at the same instant Pierre dashed at the drunken man. Just as Pierre snatched at the pistol and jerked it up, Makar Alexyevitch succeeded at last in pressing the trigger, and a deafening shot rang out, wrapping every one in a cloud of smoke. The Frenchman turned pale and rushed back to the door.
Forgetting his intention of concealing his knowledge of French, Pierre pulled away the pistol, and throwing it on the ground, ran to the officer and addressed him in French. “You are not wounded?” he said.
“I think not,” answered the officer, feeling himself; “but I have had a narrow escape this time,” he added, pointing to the broken plaster in the wall.
“Who is this man?” he asked, looking sternly at Pierre.
“Oh, I am really in despair at what has happened,” said Pierre quickly, quite forgetting his part. “It is a madman, an unhappy creature, who did not know what he was doing.”
The officer went up to Makar Alexyevitch and took him by the collar.
Makar Alexyevitch pouting out his lips, nodded, as he leaned against the wall, as though dropping asleep.
“Brigand, you shall pay for it,” said the Frenchman, letting go of him. “We are clement after victory, but we do not pardon traitors,” he added, with gloomy dignity in his face, and a fine, vigorous gesture.
Pierre tried in French to persuade the officer not to be severe with this drunken imbecile. The Frenchman listened in silence, with the same gloomy air, and then suddenly turned with a smile to Pierre. For several seconds he gazed at him mutely. His handsome face assumed an expression of melodramatic feeling, and he held out his hand.
“You have saved my life. You are French,” he said. For a Frenchman, the deduction followed indubitably. An heroic action could only be performed by a Frenchman, and to save the life of him, M. Ramballe, captain of the 13th Light Brigade, was undoubtedly a most heroic action.
But however indubitable this logic, and well grounded the conviction the officer based on it, Pierre thought well to disillusion him on the subject.
“I am Russian,” he said quickly.
“Tell that to others,” said the Frenchman, smiling and waving his finger before his nose. “You shall tell me all about it directly,” he said. “Charmed to meet a compatriot. Well, what are we to do with this man?” he added, applying to Pierre now as though to a comrade. If Pierre were indeed not a Frenchman, he would hardly on receiving that appellation—the most honourable in the world—care to disavow it, was what the expression and tone of the French officer suggested. To his last question Pierre explained once more who Makar Alexyevitch was. He explained that just before his arrival the drunken imbecile had carried off a loaded pistol, which they had not succeeded in getting from him, and he begged him to let his action go unpunished. The Frenchman arched his chest, and made a majestic gesture with his hand.
“You have saved my life! You are a Frenchman. You ask me to pardon him. I grant you his pardon. Let this man be released,” the French officer pronounced with rapidity and energy, and taking the arm of Pierre— promoted to be a Frenchman for saving his life—he was walking with him into the room.
The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, had come into the vestibule to ask what had happened, and to offer their services in punishing the offender; but the officer sternly checked them.
“You will be sent for when you are wanted,” he said. The soldiers withdrew. The orderly, who had meanwhile been in the kitchen, came in to the officer.
“Captain, they have soup and a leg of mutton in the kitchen,” he said. “Shall I bring it up?”
“Yes, and the wine,” said the captain.
皮埃尔暗自决定在他的意愿付诸实现之前，既不公开自己的头衔，也不显示他懂法语，站在走廊的半开着的双扇门中间，打算法国人一起走进来，就立即躺藏起来，但当法国人已经进屋之后，皮埃尔还未从门口走开：止不住的好奇心使他站住不动。
他们有两个人。一个是军官，是高个儿英俊的男子，另一个显然是士兵或马弁，是矮个儿瘦小黧黑的人，双眼凹陷，表情笨拙。军官柱着一根棍子，微跛着脚走在前面。他走了几步之后，好像觉得这幢住宅不错似的，便停了下来，向后转身朝向站在门口的士兵，用长官的口气大声地喊他们牵马进来。吩咐完毕，军官潇洒地高高抬起胳膊肘，理理胡髭，举手碰了碰帽檐。
“Ronjour，la compagnie！”①他愉快地说，并微笑着打量四周。
没有人作出任何回答。
“Vous êtes le bourgeois？”②军官对格拉西姆说。
格拉西姆害怕地，疑惑不解地看着军官。
“Quartire，quarttire，logement，”军官说，带着上级对下级的宽厚而和善的笑容，从头到脚打量着这个小老头。
“Les francais sont de bons enfants．Que diable！Voyons！Ne nous faAchons pas，mon vieux．”③他又补充说，拍拍恐惧而沉默的格拉西姆的肩膀。
“A ca！Dites donc，on ne parle donc pas francais dans cette boutique？”④他又补充说，同时环顾四周，与皮埃尔的目光相遇。皮埃尔从门边走开了。
①法语：你们好，诸位。
②您是主人吗？
③住房，住房，住宿处。法军是好小伙子。见鬼，我们不会吵架，老爷爷。
④怎么，难道这里没有人能讲法语？
军官再转向格拉西姆。他要求格拉西姆带他去看看屋子里的房间。
“主人不在——别以为……我的你们的……”格拉西姆变个法儿说，尽力使自己的话更容易听懂。
法国军官微笑着，在格拉西姆鼻子底下摊开双手，让格拉西姆明白，他也不懂他的话，然后跛着脚走到皮埃尔刚才呆过的门边。皮埃尔想走掉，躲开他，但就在这时，他看见马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇双手握着手枪，从厨房开着的门里探出身来。带着疯人的狡狯，马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇上上下下把军官看了个仔细，然后举枪瞄准。
“冲啊！！！”醉汉大叫一声，按下手枪扳机。军官应声转过身来，同一刹那，皮埃尔扑向醉汉。皮埃尔刚刚抓住手枪朝上举，马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇的手指终于碰到扳机，响起了震耳的枪声，硝烟罩住了所有在场的人。军官脸色刷白，后退着冲向门口。
皮埃尔忘记了不暴露自己懂法语的打算，把手枪夺下来扔了，朝军官跑过去用法语同他交谈起来。
“Vous n'êtes pas blessé？”他说。
“Je crois que non．”①军官回答，摸了摸身上，“mais je l'ai manqué belle cette fois—ci．”②他补充说，指着墙上被打开花的灰泥。“Quel est cet homme．”③军官严厉地望了皮埃尔一眼说。
①“您没受伤吧？”“好像没有。”
②但这次靠得很近。
③这人是谁？
“Ah，je suis vraiment au de'sespoir de ce qui vient d'arriver．”①皮埃尔急忙地说，完全忘掉了自己的角色。C'est un fou，un malheureux qui ne savait pas ce qu'il faisait．”②军官走近马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇，抓住他的衣领。
马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇张开嘴，像是要睡着似的，摇晃着身子，靠在墙上。
“Brigand，tu me la payeras．”军官说，同时松开了手。
“Nout autres nous sommes cléments aprés la victoire；mais nous ne pardonnons pas aux tralAtres．”③他补充说，脸上的表情阴郁而凝重，手势优美又很有力。
皮埃尔继续用法语劝说军官不要追究这个喝醉了的疯子。法国人默默听着，面部表情未变，忽然，他微笑着转向皮埃尔。他默默凝视了他几秒钟。漂亮的脸上露出悲剧式的温柔表情，他伸出手来。
“Vous m'avez sauvé la vie！Vous êtes franBcais．”④他说。此结论对一个法国人来说，是勿庸置疑的。能干大事的只有法国人，而救他的命的，m—r Ramballe，CapiBtaine du 13—me léger①，是大壮举。
①啊，刚才发生的事真叫我沮丧。
②这是一个不幸的疯子，他不知道他干的什么。
③匪徒，你要为此偿命。我们的弟兄胜利后是仁慈的，但我们不饶恕反叛者。
④您救了我一命。您是法国人。
但无论此一结论及基于此结论的军官的信念如何地不庸置疑，皮埃尔仍旧认为应使他失望。
“Je suis Russe．”②皮埃尔赶紧说。
“啧—啧—啧，à d'autres，”③这法国人举起食指在鼻子跟前晃动，并微笑着说。“Tout á l'heure vous allez me conter tout ca，”他说。“Charmé de recontrer un compatriote．Eh bien！qu'allons nous faire de cet homme？”④他又说，此时已拿皮埃尔当作亲兄弟。即使皮埃尔不是法国人，他也不能拒绝已经得到的这一世界上最崇高的称号，法国军官的面部表情和说话语气作如是观。皮埃尔对他的后一问题，再次解释，说马卡尔·阿列克谢耶维奇是怎么样的人，他又解释说，就在他们到来之前，这个喝醉了的疯子抢去了这支实弹手枪，他没有来得及夺下来，希望赦免他的行为。
军官挺直胸膛，作了一个威严的手势。
“Vous m'avez sauvé la vie．Vous êtes franBcais．Vous me demandez sa graAce？Je vous l'acBcorde．Qu'on emm ène cet homme．”⑤军官急速而有力地说，挽着因救他性命被他接纳为法国人的皮埃尔的手臂，同他一道走进屋子。
①救了朗巴先生，第十三轻骑兵团上尉的命。
②我是俄国人。
③您对别人这样说去吧。
④您就会对我说出一切来的。很高兴见到同胞……
⑤您救了我的命。您是法国人，您要我宽恕他？我把他饶了。把他拖出去。
院子里的士兵听到枪响，走进过厅来问发生了什么事，并声称准备惩罚肇事者，军官严厉地阻止他们。
“On vous demandera quand on aura besoin de vous．”①他说，士兵都已退出。此时已去厨房兜了一圈的马弁来到军官面前。
“Capitaine，ils ont de la soupe et du gigot de mouton dans la cuisine，”他说，“Faut—il vous l'apporter？”
“Oui，et le vin．”②上尉说。
①必要时，会叫你们的。
②上尉，他们厨房里有肉汤和炸羊肉。您要不要吩咐搞一些来。是的，还有酒。
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