Війна і мир

Chapter 13

           takemysabretache...”—“Keeptotheright,yourhonor,therearebusheshere,”camethevoiceofanhussar,pastwhomRostóvwasridingintheactoffallingasleep.Rostóvliftedhisheadthathadsunkalmosttohishorse’smaneandpulledupbesidethehussar.Hewassuccumbingtoirresistible,youthful,childishdrowsiness.“ButwhatwasIthinking?Imustn’tforget.HowshallIspeaktotheEmperor?No,that’snotit—that’stomorrow.Ohyes!Natásha...sabretache...saberthem...Whom?Thehussars...Ah,thehussarswithmustaches.AlongtheTverskáyaStreetrodethehussarwithmustaches...Ithoughtabouthimtoo,justoppositeGúryev’shouse...OldGúryev....Oh,butDenísov’safinefellow.Butthat’sallnonsense.ThechiefthingisthattheEmperorishere.Howhelookedatmeandwishedtosaysomething,butdarednot....No,itwasIwhodarednot.Butthat’snonsense,thechiefthingisnottoforgettheimportantthingIwasthinkingof.Yes,Na-tásha,sabretache,oh,yes,yes!That’sright!”Andhisheadoncemoresanktohishorse’sneck.Allatonceitseemedtohimthathewasbeingfiredat.“What?What?What?...Cutthemdown!What?...”saidRostóv,wakingup.Atthemomentheopenedhiseyesheheardinfrontofhim,wheretheenemywas,thelong-drawnshoutsofthousandsofvoices.Hishorseandthehorseofthehussarnearhimprickedtheirearsattheseshouts.Overthere,wheretheshoutingcamefrom,afireflaredupandwentoutagain,thenanother,andallalongtheFrenchlineonthehillfiresflaredupandtheshoutinggrewlouderandlouder.

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