Page 58 - war-and-peace

understood, Anatole went on translating Dolokhov’s words
into English. A thin young lad, an hussar of the Life Guards,
who had been losing that evening, climbed on the window
sill, leaned over, and looked down.
‘Oh! Oh! Oh!’ he muttered, looking down from the win-
dow at the stones of the pavement.
‘Shut up!’ cried Dolokhov, pushing him away from the
window. The lad jumped awkwardly back into the room,
tripping over his spurs.
Placing the bottle on the window sill where he could reach
it easily, Dolokhov climbed carefully and slowly through the
window and lowered his legs. Pressing against both sides
of the window, he adjusted himself on his seat, lowered his
hands, moved a little to the right and then to the left, and
took up the bottle. Anatole brought two candles and placed
them on the window sill, though it was already quite light.
Dolokhov’s back in his white shirt, and his curly head, were
lit up from both sides. Everyone crowded to the window, the
Englishman in front. Pierre stood smiling but silent. One
man, older than the others present, suddenly pushed for-
ward with a scared and angry look and wanted to seize hold
of Dolokhov’s shirt.
‘I say, this is folly! He’ll be killed,’ said this more sensible
man.
Anatole stopped him.
‘Don’t touch him! You’ll startle him and then he’ll be
killed. Eh?... What then?... Eh?’
Dolokhov turned round and, again holding on with both
hands, arranged himself on his seat.

58 War and Peace