to reflect Him to the greatest extent. And it grows, merges, disappears from the surface, sinks to the depths, and again emerges. There now, Karatáev has spread out and disappeared. Do you understand, my child?” said the
“Do you understand, damn you?” shouted a voice, and Pierre woke up.
He lifted himself and sat up.
A Frenchman who had just pushed a Russian soldier away was squatting by the fire, engaged in roasting a piece of meat stuck on a ramrod.
His sleeves were rolled up and his sinewy, hairy, red hands with their short fingers deftly turned the ramrod.
His brown morose face with frowning brows was clearly visible by the glow of the charcoal.
“It’s all the same to him,” he muttered, turning quickly to a soldier who stood behind him.
“Brigand! Get away!”
And twisting the ramrod he looked gloomily