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Chapter 15

           Theofficerfell,notsomuchfromtheblow—whichhadbutslightlycuthisarmabovetheelbow—asfromtheshocktohishorseandfromfright.Rostóvreinedinhishorse,andhiseyessoughthisfoetoseewhomhehadvanquished.TheFrenchdragoonofficerwashoppingwithonefootontheground,theotherbeingcaughtinthestirrup.Hiseyes,screwedupwithfearasifheeverymomentexpectedanotherblow,gazedupatRostóvwithshrinkingterror.Hispaleandmud-stainedface—fairandyoung,withadimpleinthechinandlight-blueeyes—wasnotanenemy’sfaceatallsuitedtoabattlefield,butamostordinary,homelikeface.BeforeRostóvhaddecidedwhattodowithhim,theofficercried,“Isurrender!”HehurriedlybutvainlytriedtogethisfootoutofthestirrupanddidnotremovehisfrightenedblueeyesfromRostóv’sface.Somehussarswhogallopedupdisengagedhisfootandhelpedhimintothesaddle.Onallsides,thehussarswerebusywiththedragoons;onewaswounded,butthoughhisfacewasbleeding,hewouldnotgiveuphishorse;anotherwasperchedupbehindanhussarwithhisarmsroundhim;athirdwasbeinghelpedbyanhussartomounthishorse.Infront,theFrenchinfantrywerefiringastheyran.Thehussarsgallopedhastilybackwiththeirprisoners.Rostóvgallopedbackwiththerest,awareofanunpleasantfeelingofdepressioninhisheart.Somethingvagueandconfused,whichhecouldnotatallaccountfor,hadcomeoverhimwiththecaptureofthatofficerandtheblowhehaddealthim.

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