But the doctor interrupted him and moved toward his gig.

“I would go with you but on my honor I’m up to here”⁠—and he pointed to his throat. “I’m galloping to the commander of the corps. How do matters stand?⁠ ⁠… You know, Count, there’ll be a battle tomorrow. Out of an army of a hundred thousand we must expect at least twenty thousand wounded, and we haven’t stretchers, or bunks, or dressers, or doctors enough for six thousand. We have ten thousand carts, but we need other things as well⁠—we must manage as best we can!”

The strange thought that of the thousands of men, young and old, who had stared with merry surprise at his hat (perhaps the very men he had noticed), twenty thousand were inevitably doomed to wounds and death amazed Pierre.