words.
Wishing to find out where the commander in chief was, he rode up to a convoy. Directly opposite to him came a strange one-horse vehicle, evidently rigged up by soldiers out of any available materials and looking like something between a cart, a cabriolet, and a calèche.
A soldier was driving, and a woman enveloped in shawls sat behind the apron under the leather hood of the vehicle. Prince Andréy rode up and was just putting his question to a soldier when his attention was diverted by the desperate shrieks of the woman in the vehicle.
An officer in charge of transport was beating the soldier who was driving the woman’s vehicle for trying to get ahead of others, and the strokes of his whip fell on the apron of the equipage. The woman screamed piercingly. Seeing Prince Andréy she leaned out from behind the apron and, waving her thin arms from under the woolen shawl, cried:
“ Mr. Aide-de-camp! Mr. Aide-de-camp! … For heaven’s sake … Protect me! What will become of us? I am the wife of the doctor of the Seventh Chasseurs. … They won’t let us pass, we are left behind and have lost our people …”
“I’ll flatten you into a pancake!” shouted the angry officer to the soldier. “Turn back with your slut!”
“ Mr. Aide-de-camp! Help me! … What does it all mean?” screamed the doctor’s wife.
“Kindly let this cart pass. Don’t you see it’s a woman?” said Prince Andréy riding up to the officer.
The officer glanced at him, and without replying turned again to the soldier. “I’ll teach you to push