“TO YOUR PLACES!” a voice shouted suddenly.

There was a cheerful stir among the prisoners and convoy soldiers, and an air of expecting something festive and solemn. Shouted commands could be heard on all sides, and a party of well-dressed cavalry soldiers on good horses came trotting up from the left, making a circuit round the prisoners. Every face wore the look of nervousness commonly seen at the approach of men in authority. The prisoners huddled together and were shoved out of the way. The convoy soldiers formed in ranks.

“The Emperor! The Emperor! The marshal! The duke!…” and the sleek cavalry soldiers had hardly ridden by when a carriage rattled up drawn by grey horses. Pierre had a passing glimpse of the serene, handsome, fat, white face of a man in a three-cornered hat. It was one of the marshals. The marshal's eye was caught by Pierre's big, striking figure; and in the expression with which he frowned and looked away Pierre fancied he saw pity and the desire to conceal it.

The general in charge of the transport whipped up his lean horse, and galloped after the carriage with a red, panic-stricken face. Several officers met in a group; the soldiers came round them. All had excited and uneasy faces.

“What did he say? What was it he said? …” Pierre heard.

While the marshal was driving by, the prisoners had been hustled together into one group, and Pierre caught sight of Karataev, whom he had not yet seen that morning. He was sitting, wrapped in his little military coat, leaning against a birch-tree. His face still wore the same look of joyous emotion as when he had been telling the story of the merchant, but it had another expression too, a look of subdued solemnity.

Karataev looked at Pierre with his kindly, round eyes, that were bright now with tears, and there was an unmistakable appeal in them. He evidently wanted to say something to him. But Pierre was in too great dread for himself. He made as though he had not seen that look, and hastily walked away.

When the prisoners set off again Pierre looked back. Karataev was sitting under the birch-tree by the edge of the road, and two Frenchmen were bending over him in conversation. Pierre did not look again. He went on limping up the hill.

There was the sound of a shot behind, at the spot where Karataev was sitting. Pierre heard that shot distinctly, but at the moment that he heard it, he recalled that he had not finished reckoning up how many stages were left to Smolensk, the calculation he had begun before the marshal rode by. And he began to reckon. Two French soldiers ran by Pierre, one holding a still smoking gun. They were both pale, and in the expression of their faces—one of them glanced timidly at Pierre—there was something like what he had seen in the young soldier at the execution in Moscow. Pierre looked at the soldier and remembered how, the day before yesterday, the man had burnt his shirt in drying it before the fire, and how the others had laughed at him.

The dog began to howl behind at the spot where Karataev was sitting. “Silly creature! what is she howling for?” thought Pierre

The prisoners, his companions marching at his side, like him, refrained from looking back to the place whence came the sound of the shot and the dog's howl. There was a set look on all their faces.

“Avosplaces！”①突然间喊出一声口令。

在俘虏和押送队中发生了一阵骚动，似乎期待着一种快乐而庄严的事情。四面八方都传来了口令声，从俘虏队的左边来了一队骑着骏马，军容整肃的骑兵。所有的人都紧张起来，这是每当最高当局的大人物驾临时人们常有的表情。俘虏们被赶到一边，挤成一团。押送队的士兵们集合列队。

“L'empereur！L'empereur！Lemaréchal！Leduc！”②一队剽悍的后卫骑兵刚驶过，接着就有一辆由两匹灰马并驾的四轮轿形车咕咕隆隆地驶过。皮埃尔瞥见一个仪态端庄白胖胖的，头戴三角帽的人的脸。这是一位元帅。元帅向皮埃尔那引人注目的粗壮躯体看了一眼。从元帅紧锁双眉和立即掉过脸去的表情，皮埃尔看出了有一种同情和有意把这种同情掩饰住的表情。

那个管理军队的将军，满脸通红，神色惊慌，鞭打着他骑的那匹瘦马，在马车后面奔跑着。有九个军官聚在一块，一些士兵站在他们周围。所有人的表情既兴奋又紧张。

“Qu'estcequ'iladit？Qu'estcequ'iladit？…”③皮埃尔听见人们问。

①法语：各就各位②法语：皇帝！皇帝！元帅！

③法语：他说什么？他说什么？

在元帅经过时，俘虏们挤在一堆，皮埃尔看到了从早上起还没有看到过的卡拉塔耶夫。卡拉塔耶夫穿着窄小的军大衣，靠着一株桦树坐着。他脸上，除了昨天讲述那个无辜受罪的老人的故事时所表现的欢喜神情外，还露出宁静、庄严的表现。

卡拉塔耶夫睁着他那温和的、满含泪水的眼睛望着皮埃尔。显然是希望他能走近点，以便对他说点什么。但是，皮埃尔为自身的处境所担心，他佯装没有看见，急忙走开了。

当俘虏又启程的时候，皮埃尔回头看了一眼，卡拉塔耶夫坐在路边的桦树旁，两个法国人站在旁边在说什么。皮埃尔没有再回头看，他一瘸一瘸地向山坡上走去。

从后面卡拉塔耶夫坐着的地方，传来一声枪响。皮埃尔听得十分清楚，就在这一瞬间，他想起了，他尚未计算出到达斯摩棱斯克还有多少站，这是在那个元帅经过之前就开始计算了。于是他又开始计算。有两个法国士兵从皮埃尔身旁跑过，其中一个提着一支还在冒烟的枪。他们俩脸色苍白，其中一个怯生生地看了皮埃尔一眼，他们的表情和皮埃尔曾见过的那个行刑的年轻士兵的表情一样。皮埃尔看一眼那个士兵，想起了三天前他在火堆旁烤衬衫，把衬衫烤糊了，他们为此还嘲笑过他。

在他后面，在卡拉塔耶夫坐过的那个地方，那条狗在哀嗥。“愚蠢的畜牲，嗥什么？”皮埃尔想。

皮埃尔和同行的同伴们一样，都没有回头看那发出枪声和后来狗叫的地方，但每个人脸上的表情都十分严峻。