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It
was
only
now
that
he
noticed
wounded
men
staggering
along
or
being
carried
on
stretchers
.
On
that
very
meadow
he
had
ridden
over
the
day
before
,
a
soldier
was
lying
athwart
the
rows
of
scented
hay
,
with
his
head
thrown
awkwardly
back
and
his
shako
off
.
"
Why
have
n't
they
carried
him
away
?
"
Pierre
was
about
to
ask
,
but
seeing
the
stern
expression
of
the
adjutant
who
was
also
looking
that
way
,
he
checked
himself
.
Pierre
did
not
find
his
groom
and
rode
along
the
hollow
with
the
adjutant
to
Raévski
's
Redoubt
.
His
horse
lagged
behind
the
adjutant
's
and
jolted
him
at
every
step
.
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"
You
do
n't
seem
to
be
used
to
riding
,
Count
?
"
remarked
the
adjutant
.
"
No
it
's
not
that
,
but
her
action
seems
so
jerky
,
"
said
Pierre
in
a
puzzled
tone
.
"
Why
...
she
's
wounded
!
"
said
the
adjutant
.
"
In
the
off
foreleg
above
the
knee
.
A
bullet
,
no
doubt
.
I
congratulate
you
,
Count
,
on
your
baptism
of
fire
!
"
Having
ridden
in
the
smoke
past
the
Sixth
Corps
,
behind
the
artillery
which
had
been
moved
forward
and
was
in
action
,
deafening
them
with
the
noise
of
firing
,
they
came
to
a
small
wood
.
There
it
was
cool
and
quiet
,
with
a
scent
of
autumn
.
Pierre
and
the
adjutant
dismounted
and
walked
up
the
hill
on
foot
.
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"
Is
the
general
here
?
"
asked
the
adjutant
on
reaching
the
knoll
.
"
He
was
here
a
minute
ago
but
has
just
gone
that
way
,
"
someone
told
him
,
pointing
to
the
right
.
The
adjutant
looked
at
Pierre
as
if
puzzled
what
to
do
with
him
now
.