an hussar standing near Pétya. “We gave him something to eat a while ago. He was awfully hungry!”
The sound of bare feet splashing through the mud was heard in the darkness, and the drummer boy came to the door.
“ Ah, c’est vous! ” said Pétya. “ Voulez-vous manger? N’ayez pas peur, on ne vous fera pas de mal ,” he added shyly and affectionately, touching the boy’s hand. “ Entrez, entrez. ”
“ Merci, monsieur ,” said the drummer boy in a trembling almost childish voice, and he began scraping his dirty feet on the threshold.
There were many things Pétya wanted to say to the drummer boy, but did not dare to. He stood irresolutely beside him in the passage. Then in the darkness he took the boy’s hand and pressed it.
“Come in, come in!” he repeated in a gentle whisper. “Oh, what can I do for him?” he thought, and opening the door he let the boy pass in first.
When the boy had entered the hut, Pétya sat down at a distance from him, considering it beneath his dignity to pay attention to him. But he fingered the money in his pocket and wondered whether it would seem ridiculous to give some to the drummer boy.
VIII
The arrival of Dólokhov diverted Pétya’s attention from the drummer boy, to whom Denísov had had some mutton and vodka given, and whom he had had dressed in a Russian coat so that he might be kept with their band and not sent away with the other prisoners. Pétya had heard in the army many stories of Dólokhov’s extraordinary bravery and of his cruelty to the French, so from the moment he