Denísov remained silent and did not move, but occasionally looked with his glittering black eyes at Rostóv.
“You value your own pride and don’t wish to apologize,” continued the staff captain, “but we old fellows, who have grown up in and, God willing, are going to die in the regiment, we prize the honor of the regiment, and Bogdánich knows it. Oh, we do prize it, old fellow! And all this is not right, it’s not right! You may take offense or not but I always stick to mother truth. It’s not right!”
And the staff captain rose and turned away from Rostóv.
“That’s twue, devil take it!” shouted Denísov, jumping up. “Now then, Wostóv, now then!”
Rostóv, growing red and pale alternately, looked first at one officer and then at the other.
“No, gentlemen, no … you mustn’t think … I quite understand. You’re wrong to think that of me … I … for me … for the honor of the regiment I’d … Ah well, I’ll show that in action, and for me the honor of the flag … Well, never mind, it’s true I’m to blame, to blame all round. Well, what else do you want? …”