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Chapter 19

           Insteadofthemovinghorsesandhussars’backs,hesawnothingbeforehimbutthemotionlessearthandthestubblearoundhim.Therewaswarmbloodunderhisarm.“No,Iamwoundedandthehorseiskilled.”Rooktriedtoriseonhisforelegsbutfellback,pinninghisrider’sleg.Bloodwasflowingfromhishead;hestruggledbutcouldnotrise.Rostóvalsotriedtorisebutfellback,hissabretachehavingbecomeentangledinthesaddle.Whereourmenwere,andwheretheFrench,hedidnotknow.Therewasnoonenear.

           Havingdisentangledhisleg,herose.“Where,onwhichside,wasnowthelinethathadsosharplydividedthetwoarmies?”heaskedhimselfandcouldnotanswer.“Cansomethingbadhavehappenedtome?”hewonderedashegotup:andatthatmomenthefeltthatsomethingsuperfluouswashangingonhisbenumbedleftarm.Thewristfeltasifitwerenothis.Heexaminedhishandcarefully,vainlytryingtofindbloodonit.“Ah,herearepeoplecoming,”hethoughtjoyfully,seeingsomemenrunningtowardhim.“Theywillhelpme!”Infrontcameamanwearingastrangeshakoandabluecloak,swarthy,sunburned,andwithahookednose.Thencametwomore,andmanymorerunningbehind.Oneofthemsaidsomethingstrange,notinRussian.InamongthehindmostofthesemenwearingsimilarshakoswasaRussianhussar.Hewasbeingheldbythearmsandhishorsewasbeingledbehindhim.

           “Itmustbeoneofours,aprisoner.Yes.Canitbethattheywilltakemetoo?Whoarethesemen?”thoughtRostóv,scarcelybelievinghiseyes.

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