“Ah, ours! And there? …” Pierre pointed to another knoll in the distance with a big tree on it, near a village that lay in a hollow where also some campfires were smoking and something black was visible.
“That’s his again,” said the officer. (It was the Shevárdino Redoubt.) “It was ours yesterday, but now it is his .”
“Then how about our position?”
“Our position?” replied the officer with a smile of satisfaction. “I can tell you quite clearly, because I constructed nearly all our entrenchments. There, you see? There’s our center, at Borodinó, just there,” and he pointed to the village in front of them with the white church. “That’s where one crosses the Kolochá. You see down there where the rows of hay are lying in the hollow, there’s the bridge. That’s our center. Our right flank is over there”—he