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"
The
hollow
is
impassable
--
there
's
a
swamp
there
,
"
said
the
esaul
.
"
The
horses
would
sink
.
We
must
ride
round
more
to
the
left
...
"
While
they
were
talking
in
undertones
the
crack
of
a
shot
sounded
from
the
low
ground
by
the
pond
,
a
puff
of
white
smoke
appeared
,
then
another
,
and
the
sound
of
hundreds
of
seemingly
merry
French
voices
shouting
together
came
up
from
the
slope
.
For
a
moment
Denísov
and
the
esaul
drew
back
.
They
were
so
near
that
they
thought
they
were
the
cause
of
the
firing
and
shouting
.
But
the
firing
and
shouting
did
not
relate
to
them
.
Down
below
,
a
man
wearing
something
red
was
running
through
the
marsh
.
The
French
were
evidently
firing
and
shouting
at
him
.
"
Why
,
that
's
our
Tíkhon
,
"
said
the
esaul
.
"
So
it
is
!
It
is
!
"
"
The
wascal
!
"
said
Denísov
.
"
He
'll
get
away
!
"
said
the
esaul
,
screwing
up
his
eyes
.
The
man
whom
they
called
Tíkhon
,
having
run
to
the
stream
,
plunged
in
so
that
the
water
splashed
in
the
air
,
and
,
having
disappeared
for
an
instant
,
scrambled
out
on
all
fours
,
all
black
with
the
wet
,
and
ran
on
.
The
French
who
had
been
pursuing
him
stopped
.
"
Smart
,
that
!
"
said
the
esaul
.
"
What
a
beast
!
"
said
Denísov
with
his
former
look
of
vexation
.
"
What
has
he
been
doing
all
this
time
?
"
