appeared on his nose, the redness of which was evidently due to intemperance, and his mouth twitched nervously. The general looked the captain up and down as he came up panting, slackening his pace as he approached.
“You will soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What is this?” shouted the regimental commander, thrusting forward his jaw and pointing at a soldier in the ranks of the third company in a greatcoat of bluish cloth, which contrasted with the others. “What have you been after? The commander in chief is expected and you leave your place? Eh? I’ll teach you to dress the men in fancy coats for a parade. … Eh … ?”
The commander of the company, with his eyes fixed on his superior, pressed two fingers more and more rigidly to his cap, as if in this pressure lay his only hope of salvation.
“Well, why don’t you speak? Whom have you got there dressed up as a Hungarian?” said the commander with an austere gibe.
“Your excellency …”
“Well, your excellency, what? Your excellency! But what about your excellency? … nobody knows.”
“Your excellency, it’s the officer Dólokhov, who has been reduced to the ranks,” said the captain softly.
“Well? Has he been degraded into a field marshal, or into a soldier? If a soldier, he should be dressed in regulation uniform like the others.”
“Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself, on the march.”
“Gave him leave? Leave? That’s just like you young men,” said the regimental commander cooling down a little. “Leave indeed. … One says a word to you and you … What?” he added with renewed irritation, “I beg you to dress your men decently.”