DENISOV gave orders for the drummer-boy to be given some vodka and mutton, and to be put into a Russian dress, so that he should not be sent off with the other prisoners, but should stay with his band. Petya's attention was diverted from the boy by the arrival of Dolohov. He had heard a great many stories told in the army of Dolohov's extraordinary gallantry and of his cruelty to the French. And therefore from the moment Dolohov entered the hut Petya could not take his eyes off him, and flinging up his head, he assumed a more and more swagging air, that he might not be unworthy of associating even with a hero like Dolohov.

Dolohov's appearance struck Petya as strange through its simplicity.

Denisov was dressed in a Cossack coat; he had let his beard grow, and had a holy image of Nikolay, the wonder-worker, on his breast. His whole manner of speaking and all his gestures were suggestive of his peculiar position. Dolohov, on the contrary, though in old days he had worn a Persian dress in Moscow, looked now like the most correct officer of the Guards. He was clean-shaven; he wore the wadded coat of the Guards with a St. George medal on a ribbon, and a plain forage cap, put on straight on his head. He took his wet cloak off in the corner and, without greeting any one, went straight up to Denisov and began at once asking questions about the matter in hand. Denisov told him of the designs the larger detachment had upon the French convoy, of the message Petya had brought, and the answer he had given to both generals. Then he told him all he knew of the position of the French.

“That's so. But we must find out what troops they are, and what are their numbers,” said Dolohov; “we must go and have a look at them. We can't rush into the thing without knowing for certain how many there are of them. I like to do things properly. Come, won't one of you gentlemen like to come with me to pay them a call in their camp? I have an extra uniform with me.”

“I, I … I'll come with you!” cried Petya.

“There's not the slightest need for you to go,” said Denisov, addressing Dolohov; “and as for him I wouldn't let him go on any account.”

“That's good!” cried Petya; “why shouldn't I go? …”

“Why, because there's no reason to.”

“Oh, well, excuse me … because … because … I'm going, and that's all. You will take me?” he cried, turning to Dolohov.

“Why not? …” Dolohov answered, absently, staring into the face of the French drummer-boy.

“Have you had that youngster long?” he asked Denisov.

“We caught him to-day, but he knows nothing; I have kept him with us.”

“Oh, and what do you do with the rest?” said Dolohov.

“What do I do with them? I take a receipt for them, and send them off!” cried Denisov, suddenly flushing. “And I make bold to say that I haven't a single man's life on my conscience. Is there any difficulty in your sending thirty, or three hundred men, under escort, to the town rather than stain—I say so bluntly—one's honour as a soldier?”

“It's all very well for this little count here at sixteen to talk of such refinements,” Dolohov said, with a cold sneer; “but it's high time for you to drop all that.”

“Why, I am not saying anything, I only say that I am certainly going with you,” said Petya shyly.

“But for me and you, mate, it's high time to drop such delicacy,” Dolohov went on, apparently deriving peculiar gratification from talking on a subject irritating to Denisov. “Why have you kept this lad,” he said, “except because you are sorry for him? Why, we all know how much your receipts are worth. You send off a hundred men and thirty reach the town. They die of hunger or are killed on the way. So isn't it just as well to make short work of them?”

The esaul, screwing up his light-coloured eyes, nodded his head approvingly.

“That's not my affair, no need to discuss it. I don't care to have their lives on my conscience. You say they die. Well, let them. Only not through my doing.”

Dolohov laughed.

“Who prevented their taking me twenty times over? But you know if they do catch me—and you too with your chivalrous sentiments—it will just be the same—the nearest aspen-tree.” He paused. “We must be getting to work, though. Send my Cossack here with the pack. I have two French uniforms. Well, are you coming with me?” he asked Petya.

“I? Yes, yes, of course,” cried Petya, blushing till the tears came into his eyes, and glancing at Denisov.

While Dolohov had been arguing with Denisov what should be done with prisoners, Petya had again had that feeling of discomfort and nervous hurry; but again he had not time to get a clear idea of what they were talking about. “If that's what is thought by grown-up men, famous leaders, then it must be so, it must be all right,” he thought. “And the great thing is, that Denisov shouldn't dare to imagine that I must obey him, that he can order me about. I shall certainly go with Dolohov into the French camp. He can go, and so can I!”

To all Denisov's efforts to dissuade him from going, Petya replied that he too liked doing things properly and not in haphazard fashion, and that he never thought about danger to himself.

“For, you must admit, if we don't know exactly how many men there are there, it might cost the life of hundreds, and it is only we two, and so I very much wish it, and I shall certainly, most certainly go, and don't try to prevent me,” he said; “it won't be any use …”

多洛霍夫的到来，把彼佳的注意力转移过去了。杰尼索夫已经吩咐给小鼓手伏特加酒和羊肉，叫他穿上俄国式的长大衣，打算不把他和其他俘虏一样送走，把他留在队里。彼佳在部队里曾经听到过许多关于多洛霍夫骁勇善战和对法国人残暴的故事，所以，从多洛霍夫一进屋，彼佳就目不转睛地望着他，越来越振作，高昂着头，力图表现出，即使像多洛霍夫这样的伙伴，他也配得上。

多洛霍夫外表朴素，这一点使彼佳十分惊奇。

杰尼索夫穿一件农民大衣，蓄着胡子，胸前佩戴着一枚尼古拉神像，他的言谈和一切举止都显示出他的特殊地位。多洛霍夫从前在莫斯科时穿一身波斯服装，而现在的装束则完全相反，有一副近卫军军官似的很拘板的仪表。他的脸刮得干干净净，穿的是近卫军棉大衣，钮孔上别了一枚圣乔治勋章，头上端端正正地戴一顶普通军帽。他在墙角处脱下湿毡斗篷，不和任何人打招呼，径直走到杰尼索夫跟前，立刻谈起正事来。杰尼索夫对他讲述了两支大游击队对袭击法国运输队的计划、彼佳送来的信件，以及他是怎样回复那两个将军的。接着，杰尼索夫又讲述了他所获悉的法国部队的所有情况。

“是这样，但是必须弄清楚是什么部队，有多少人，”多洛霍夫说，“不把他们有多少人弄准确，就不能贸然行动。得去一趟，我做事讲究认真。”他又问，“哪位先生愿意跟我一起到法国人营盘里去走一遭？我把法国军装都带来了。”

“我，我……我跟您去！”彼佳喊到。

“完全用不着你去。”杰尼索夫对多洛霍夫说，“至于他，我是无论如何也不让他去的。”

“我去是最好不过啦！”彼佳喊道，“为什么我不能去？”

“没有这个必要。”

“请原谅我，因为……因为……我一定要去，就是这样。

您带我去吗？”彼佳问多洛霍夫。

“为什么不可以？”多洛霍夫漫不经心地回答道。他盯着法国小鼓手的脸。

“这孩子早就在您这儿了？”他问杰尼索夫。

“今天捉到的，可他什么都不知道，我把他留下来了。”

“噢，你把其余的都弄到哪里去了？”多洛霍夫说。

“什么哪里？我送走的都有收条！”杰尼索夫突然红着脸大声叫道。“我敢凭良心说，我没害过一条命。把三十个或三百个押解到城里去，不玷污一个军人的名誉，请恕我直言，在你一定是困难的吧。”

“这番好心话要是由这个十六岁的小伯爵嘴里说出来才合适。”多洛霍夫冷笑着说，“你已经不是说这种话的时候了。”

“什么呀，我什么也没有说，我只说了我一定要跟您一道去。”彼佳怯生生地说。

“不过，老兄，就你和我来说，咱们该是扔掉这种多情的时候了。”多洛霍夫继续说，好像他对这个刺激杰尼索夫的话题特别有兴趣。“你留下这孩子干吗？”他摇了摇头，又说，“是因为你怜悯他？要知道，我们知道你那些收条。你送走一百个，结果收到三十个。其余的不是饿死，就是被打死。送不送这都一个样，不是吗？”

哥萨克一等上尉眯着明亮的眼睛，赞许地点着头。

“送不送都一样，这没有什么可说的。可我不愿意使我的良心不安。你说，他们会死掉。那也成，只要不是死在我手里就行。”

多洛霍夫哈哈大笑起来。

“谁叫他们下过二十道命令捉我？要是真被捉了去，你和我连同你那骑士风度，都会给吊到白杨树上。”他顿了一顿。

“我们还是干正经事吧。叫我的哥萨克把背包拿来，我带来了两套法车军装。怎么样，跟我去吗？”他问彼佳。

“我？对，对，当然去。”彼佳盯着杰尼索夫忙不迭地说，他脸涨红得几乎流下眼泪。

在多洛霍夫和杰尼索夫争论应当怎样对待俘虏的时候，彼佳又感到困窘和坐立不安。可是，他又来不及弄清楚他们交谈的是什么意思，他想，既然，这些有名的大人物是那么想的，那自然是对的，是好的。不过，主要是不能让杰尼索夫以为我得听他的，他可以指挥我。我一定要随多洛霍夫到法国军队营盘中去。他能办到的，我也能办得到。

对杰尼索夫的一切劝阻，彼佳总是回答说，他做事一向很精细，不是毛手毛脚地靠碰运气。他从来都是把生死置之度外的。

“因为，您一定同意这一点，如果不弄清他们到底有多少人，这可要关系到数百条人命，而我们只不过两个人。再说，我非常想去，一定得去，您别再阻拦我，”他说，“要那样，只会使事情更糟糕……”