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And
without
waiting
for
an
answer
from
the
sentinel
,
who
had
stepped
aside
,
Dólokhov
rode
up
the
incline
at
a
walk
.
Noticing
the
black
outline
of
a
man
crossing
the
road
,
Dólokhov
stopped
him
and
inquired
where
the
commander
and
officers
were
.
The
man
,
a
soldier
with
a
sack
over
his
shoulder
,
stopped
,
came
close
up
to
Dólokhov
's
horse
,
touched
it
with
his
hand
,
and
explained
simply
and
in
a
friendly
way
that
the
commander
and
the
officers
were
higher
up
the
hill
to
the
right
in
the
courtyard
of
the
farm
,
as
he
called
the
landowner
's
house
.
Having
ridden
up
the
road
,
on
both
sides
of
which
French
talk
could
be
heard
around
the
campfires
,
Dólokhov
turned
into
the
courtyard
of
the
landowner
's
house
.
Having
ridden
in
,
he
dismounted
and
approached
a
big
blazing
campfire
,
around
which
sat
several
men
talking
noisily
.
Something
was
boiling
in
a
small
cauldron
at
the
edge
of
the
fire
and
a
soldier
in
a
peaked
cap
and
blue
overcoat
,
lit
up
by
the
fire
,
was
kneeling
beside
it
stirring
its
contents
with
a
ramrod
.
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"
Oh
,
he
's
a
hard
nut
to
crack
,
"
said
one
of
the
officers
who
was
sitting
in
the
shadow
at
the
other
side
of
the
fire
.
"
He
'll
make
them
get
a
move
on
,
those
fellows
!
"
said
another
,
laughing
.
Both
fell
silent
,
peering
out
through
the
darkness
at
the
sound
of
Dólokhov
's
and
Pétya
's
steps
as
they
advanced
to
the
fire
leading
their
horses
.
"
Bonjour
,
messieurs
!
"
*
said
Dólokhov
loudly
and
clearly
.
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*
"
Good
day
,
gentlemen
.
"
There
was
a
stir
among
the
officers
in
the
shadow
beyond
the
fire
,
and
one
tall
,
long-necked
officer
,
walking
round
the
fire
,
came
up
to
Dólokhov
.
"
Is
that
you
,
Clément
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Where
the
devil
...
?
"
But
,
noticing
his
mistake
,
he
broke
off
short
and
,
with
a
frown
,
greeted
Dólokhov
as
a
stranger
,
asking
what
he
could
do
for
him
.