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stepping forward and addressing the Austrian general, "I have the honor to congratulate you." He bowed his head and scraped first with one foot and then with the other, awkwardly, like a child at a dancing lesson. The member of the Hofkriegsrath looked at him severely but, seeing the seriousness of his stupid smile, could not but give him a moments attention. He screwed up his eyes showing that he was listening. "I have the honor to congratulate you. General Mack has arrived, quite well, only a little bruised just here," he added, pointing with a beaming smile to his head. The general frowned, turned away, and went on. "Gott, wie naiv!"* said he angrily, after he had gone a few steps. *"Good God, what simplicity!" Nesvitski with a laugh threw his arms round Prince Andrew, but Bolkonski, turning still paler, pushed him away with an angry look and turned to Zherkov. The nervous irritation aroused by the appearance of Mack, the news of his defeat, and the thought of what lay before the Russian army found vent in anger at Zherkovs untimely jest. "If you, sir, choose to make a buffoon of yourself," he said sharply, with a slight trembling of the lower jaw, "I cant prevent your doing so; but I warn you that if you dare to play the fool in my presence, I will teach you to behave yourself." Nesvitski and Zherkov were so surprised by this outburst that they gazed at Bolkonski silently with wide-open eyes. "Whats the matter? I only congratulated them," said Zherkov. "I am not jesting with you; please be silent!" cried Bolkonski, and taking Nesvitskis arm he left Zherkov, who did not know what to say. "Come, whats the matter, old fellow?" said Nesvitski trying to soothe him. "Whats the matter?" exclaimed Prince Andrew standing still in his excitement. "Dont you understand that either we are officers serving our Tsar and our country, rejoicing in the successes and grieving at the misfortunes of our common cause, or we are merely lackeys who care nothing for their masters business. Quarante mille hommes massacres et larmee de nos allies detruite, et vous trouvez la le mot pour rire,"* he said, as if strengthening his views by this French sentence. "Cest bien pour un garcon de rien comme cet individu dont vous avez fait un ami, mais pas pour vous, pas pour vous.*[2] Only a hobbledehoy could amuse himself in this way," he added in Russian--but pronouncing the word with a French accent--having noticed that Zherkov could still hear him. *"Forty thousand men massacred and the army of our allies destroyed, and you find that a cause for jesting!" *[2] "It is all very well for that good-for-nothing fellow of whom you have made a friend, but not for you, not for you." He waited a moment to see whether the cornet would answer, but he turned and went out of the corridor. CHAPTER IV The Pavlograd Hussars were stationed two miles from Braunau. The squadron in which Nicholas Rostov served as a cadet was quartered in the German village of Salzeneck. The best quarters in the village were assigned to cavalry-captain Denisov, the squadron commander, known throughout the whole cavalry division as Vaska Denisov. Cadet Rostov, ever since he had overtaken the regiment in Poland, had lived with the squadron commander. On October 11, the day when all was astir at headquarters over the news of Macks defeat, the camp life of the officers of this squadron was proceeding as usual. Denisov, who had been losing at cards all night, had not yet come home when Rostov rode back early in the morning from a foraging expedition. Rostov in his cadet uniform, with a jerk to his horse, rode up to the porch, swung his leg over the saddle with a supple youthful movement, stood for a moment in the stirrup as if loathe to part from his horse, and at last sprang down and called to his orderly. "Ah, Bondarenko, dear friend!" said he to the hussar who rushed up headlong to the horse. "Walk him up and down, my dear fellow," he continued, with that gay brotherly cordiality which goodhearted young people show to everyone when they are happy. "Yes, your excellency," answered the Ukrainian gaily, tossing his head. "Mind, walk him up and down well!" Another hussar also rushed toward the horse, but Bondarenko had already thrown the reins of the snaffle bridle over the horses head. It was evident that the cadet was liberal with his tips and that it paid to serve him. Rostov patted the horses neck and then his flank, and lingered for

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