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Had
this
man
been
endowed
with
the
slightest
capacity
for
perceiving
the
feelings
of
others
,
and
had
he
at
all
understood
what
Pierre
's
feelings
were
,
the
latter
would
probably
have
left
him
,
but
the
man
's
animated
obtuseness
to
everything
other
than
himself
disarmed
Pierre
.
"
A
Frenchman
or
a
Russian
prince
incognito
,
"
said
the
officer
,
looking
at
Pierre
's
fine
though
dirty
linen
and
at
the
ring
on
his
finger
.
"
I
owe
my
life
to
you
and
offer
you
my
friendship
.
A
Frenchman
never
forgets
either
an
insult
or
a
service
.
I
offer
you
my
friendship
.
That
is
all
I
can
say
.
"
There
was
so
much
good
nature
and
nobility
(
in
the
French
sense
of
the
word
)
in
the
officer
's
voice
,
in
the
expression
of
his
face
and
in
his
gestures
,
that
Pierre
,
unconsciously
smiling
in
response
to
the
Frenchman
's
smile
,
pressed
the
hand
held
out
to
him
.
"
Captain
Ramballe
,
of
the
13th
Light
Regiment
,
Chevalier
of
the
Legion
of
Honor
for
the
affair
on
the
seventh
of
September
,
"
he
introduced
himself
,
a
self-satisfied
irrepressible
smile
puckering
his
lips
under
his
mustache
.
"
Will
you
now
be
so
good
as
to
tell
me
with
whom
I
have
the
honor
of
conversing
so
pleasantly
,
instead
of
being
in
the
ambulance
with
that
maniac
's
bullet
in
my
body
?
"
Pierre
replied
that
he
could
not
tell
him
his
name
and
,
blushing
,
began
to
try
to
invent
a
name
and
to
say
something
about
his
reason
for
concealing
it
,
but
the
Frenchman
hastily
interrupted
him
.
"
Oh
,
please
!
"
said
he
.
"
I
understand
your
reasons
.
You
are
an
officer
...
a
superior
officer
perhaps
.
You
have
borne
arms
against
us
.
That
's
not
my
business
.
I
owe
you
my
life
.
That
is
enough
for
me
.
I
am
quite
at
your
service
.
You
belong
to
the
gentry
?
"
he
concluded
with
a
shade
of
inquiry
in
his
tone
.
Pierre
bent
his
head
.
"
Your
baptismal
name
,
if
you
please
.
That
is
all
I
ask
.
Monsieur
Pierre
,
you
say
...
That
's
all
I
want
to
know
.
"
When
the
mutton
and
an
omelet
had
been
served
and
a
samovar
and
vodka
brought
,
with
some
wine
which
the
French
had
taken
from
a
Russian
cellar
and
brought
with
them
,
Ramballe
invited
Pierre
to
share
his
dinner
,
and
himself
began
to
eat
greedily
and
quickly
like
a
healthy
and
hungry
man
,
munching
his
food
rapidly
with
his
strong
teeth
,
continually
smacking
his
lips
,
and
repeating
--
"
Excellent
!
Delicious
!
"
His
face
grew
red
and
was
covered
with
perspiration
.
Pierre
was
hungry
and
shared
the
dinner
with
pleasure
.
Morel
,
the
orderly
,
brought
some
hot
water
in
a
saucepan
and
placed
a
bottle
of
claret
in
it
.
He
also
brought
a
bottle
of
kvass
,
taken
from
the
kitchen
for
them
to
try
.
That
beverage
was
already
known
to
the
French
and
had
been
given
a
special
name
.
They
called
it
limonade
de
cochon
(
pig
's
lemonade
)
,
and
Morel
spoke
well
of
the
limonade
de
cochon
he
had
found
in
the
kitchen
.
But
as
the
captain
had
the
wine
they
had
taken
while
passing
through
Moscow
,
he
left
the
kvass
to
Morel
and
applied
himself
to
the
bottle
of
Bordeaux
.
He
wrapped
the
bottle
up
to
its
neck
in
a
table
napkin
and
poured
out
wine
for
himself
and
for
Pierre
.
The
satisfaction
of
his
hunger
and
the
wine
rendered
the
captain
still
more
lively
and
he
chatted
incessantly
all
through
dinner
.
"
Yes
,
my
dear
Monsieur
Pierre
,
I
owe
you
a
fine
votive
candle
for
saving
me
from
that
maniac
...
You
see
,
I
have
bullets
enough
in
my
body
already
.
Here
is
one
I
got
at
Wagram
"
(
he
touched
his
side
)
"
and
a
second
at
Smolénsk
"
--
he
showed
a
scar
on
his
cheek
--
"
and
this
leg
which
as
you
see
does
not
want
to
march
,
I
got
that
on
the
seventh
at
the
great
battle
of
la
Moskowa
.
Sacré
Dieu
!
It
was
splendid
!
That
deluge
of
fire
was
worth
seeing
.
It
was
a
tough
job
you
set
us
there
,
my
word
!
You
may
be
proud
of
it
!
And
on
my
honor
,
in
spite
of
the
cough
I
caught
there
,
I
should
be
ready
to
begin
again
.
I
pity
those
who
did
not
see
it
.
"
"
I
was
there
,
"
said
Pierre
.
