Book Eleven: 1812 - Chapter XXVIII

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Pierre, having decided that until he had carried out his design hewould disclose neither his identity nor his knowledge of French, stoodat the half-open door of the corridor, intending to conceal himself assoon as the French entered. But the French entered and still Pierredid not retire- an irresistible curiosity kept him there.

　　There were two of them. One was an officer- a tall, soldierly,handsome man- the other evidently a private or an orderly,sunburned, short, and thin, with sunken cheeks and a dullexpression. The officer walked in front, leaning on a stick andslightly limping. When he had advanced a few steps he stopped,having apparently decided that these were good quarters, turnedround to the soldiers standing at the entrance, and in a loud voice ofcommand ordered them to put up the horses. Having done that, theofficer, lifting his elbow with a smart gesture, stroked hismustache and lightly touched his hat.

　　"Bonjour, la compagnie!"* said he gaily, smiling and looking abouthim.

　　*"Good day, everybody!"

　　No one gave any reply.

　　"Vous etes le bourgeois?"* the officer asked Gerasim.

　　*"Are you the master here?"

　　Gerasim gazed at the officer with an alarmed and inquiring look.

　　"Quartier, quartier, logement!" said the officer, looking down atthe little man with a condescending and good-natured smile. "Lesfrancais sont de bons enfants. Que diable! Voyons! Ne nous fachonspas, mon vieux!"* added he, clapping the scared and silent Gerasimon the shoulder. "Well, does no one speak French in thisestablishment?" he asked again in French, looking around and meetingPierre's eyes. Pierre moved away from the door.

　　*"Quarters, quarters, lodgings! The French are good fellows. Whatthe devil! There, don't let us be cross, old fellow!"

　　Again the officer turned to Gerasim and asked him to show him therooms in the house.

　　"Master, not here- don't understand... me, you..." said Gerasim,trying to render his words more comprehensible by contorting them.

　　Still smiling, the French officer spread out his hands beforeGerasim's nose, intimating that he did not understand him either,and moved, limping, to the door at which Pierre was standing. Pierrewished to go away and conceal himself, but at that moment he saw MakarAlexeevich appearing at the open kitchen door with the pistol in hishand. With a madman's cunning, Makar Alexeevich eyed the Frenchman,raised his pistol, and took aim.

　　"Board them!" yelled the tipsy man, trying to press the trigger.Hearing the yell the officer turned round, and at the same momentPierre threw himself on the drunkard. Just when Pierre snatched at andstruck up the pistol Makar Alexeevich at last got his fingers on thetrigger, there was a deafening report, and all were enveloped in acloud of smoke. The Frenchman turned pale and rushed to the door.

　　Forgetting his intention of concealing his knowledge of French,Pierre, snatching away the pistol and throwing it down, ran up tothe officer and addressed him in French.

　　"You are not wounded?" he asked.

　　"I think not," answered the Frenchman, feeling himself over. "ButI have had a lucky escape this time," he added, pointing to thedamaged plaster of the wall. "Who is that man?" said he, lookingsternly at Pierre.

　　"Oh, I am really in despair at what has occurred," said Pierrerapidly, quite forgetting the part he had intended to play. "He isan unfortunate madman who did not know what he was doing."

　　The officer went up to Makar Alexeevich and took him by the collar.

　　Makar Alexeevich was standing with parted lips, swaying, as if aboutto fall asleep, as he leaned against the wall.

　　"Brigand! You shall pay for this," said the Frenchman, letting go ofhim. "We French are merciful after victory, but we do not pardontraitors," he added, with a look of gloomy dignity and a fineenergetic gesture.

　　Pierre continued, in French, to persuade the officer not to holdthat drunken imbecile to account. The Frenchman listened in silencewith the same gloomy expression, but suddenly turned to Pierre witha smile. For a few seconds he looked at him in silence. His handsomeface assumed a melodramatically gentle expression and he held outhis hand.

　　"You have saved my life. You are French," said he.

　　For a Frenchman that deduction was indubitable. Only a Frenchmancould perform a great deed, and to save his life- the life of M.Ramballe, captain of the 13th Light Regiment- was undoubtedly a verygreat deed.

　　But however indubitable that conclusion and the officer's convictionbased upon it, Pierre felt it necessary to disillusion him.

　　"I am Russian," he said quickly.

　　"Tut, tut, tut! Tell that to others," said the officer, waving hisfinger before his nose and smiling. "You shall tell me all aboutthat presently. I am delighted to meet a compatriot. Well, and whatare we to do with this man?" he added, addressing himself to Pierre asto a brother.

　　Even if Pierre were not a Frenchman, having once received thatloftiest of human appellations he could not renounce it, said theofficer's look and tone. In reply to his last question Pierre againexplained who Makar Alexeevich was and how just before their arrivalthat drunken imbecile had seized the loaded pistol which they hadnot had time to recover from him, and begged the officer to let thedeed go unpunished.

　　The Frenchman expanded his chest and made a majestic gesture withhis arm.

　　"You have saved my life! You are French. You ask his pardon? I grantit you. Lead that man away!" said he quickly and energetically, andtaking the arm of Pierre whom he had promoted to be a Frenchman forsaving his life, he went with him into the room.

　　The soldiers in the yard, hearing the shot, came into the passageasking what had happened, and expressed their readiness to punishthe culprits, but the officer sternly checked them.

　　"You will be called in when you are wanted," he said.

　　The soldiers went out again, and the orderly, who had meanwhilehad time to visit the kitchen, came up to his officer.

　　"Captain, there is soup and a leg of mutton in the kitchen," saidhe. "Shall I serve them up?"

　　"Yes, and some wine," answered the captain.