the clearing from which Denísov had reconnoitered the French camp, and emerging from the forest in pitch darkness they descended into the hollow. On reaching the bottom, Dólokhov told the Cossacks accompanying him to await him there and rode on at a quick trot along the road to the bridge. Pétya, his heart in his mouth with excitement, rode by his side.
“If we’re caught, I won’t be taken alive! I have a pistol,” whispered he.
“Don’t talk Russian,” said Dólokhov in a hurried whisper, and at that very moment they heard through the darkness the challenge: “ Qui vive? ” and the click of a musket.
The blood rushed to Pétya’s face and he grasped his pistol.
“ Lanciers du 6-me ,” replied Dólokhov, neither hastening nor slackening his horse’s pace.
The black figure of a sentinel stood on the bridge.
“