Война и мир

Chapter 13

           

           Attheiryesterday’shaltingplace,feelingchillybyadyingcampfire,Pierrehadgotupandgonetothenextone,whichwasburningbetter.TherePlatónKaratáevwassittingcoveredup—headandall—withhisgreatcoatasifitwereavestment,tellingthesoldiersinhiseffectiveandpleasantthoughnowfeeblevoiceastoryPierreknew.Itwasalreadypastmidnight,thehourwhenKaratáevwasusuallyfreeofhisfeverandparticularlylively.WhenPierrereachedthefireandheardPlatón’svoiceenfeebledbyillness,andsawhispatheticfacebrightlylitupbytheblaze,hefeltapainfulprickathisheart.Hisfeelingofpityforthismanfrightenedhimandhewishedtogoaway,buttherewasnootherfire,andPierresatdown,tryingnottolookatPlatón.

           “Well,howareyou?”heasked.

           “HowamI?Ifwegrumbleatsickness,Godwon’tgrantusdeath,”repliedPlatón,andatonceresumedthestoryhehadbegun.

           “Andso,brother,”hecontinued,withasmileonhispaleemaciatedfaceandaparticularlyhappylightinhiseyes,“yousee,brother...”

           Pierrehadlongbeenfamiliarwiththatstory.Karatáevhadtoldittohimalonesomehalf-dozentimesandalwayswithaspeciallyjoyfulemotion.Butwellasheknewit,Pierrenowlistenedtothattaleastosomethingnew,andthequietraptureKaratáevevidentlyfeltashetolditcommunicateditselfalsotoPierre.ThestorywasofanoldmerchantwholivedagoodandGod-fearinglifewithhisfamily,andwhowentoncetotheNízhnifairwithacompanion—arichmerchant.

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