| BOOK FOURTEEN: 1812
15. CHAPTER XV
 (continued)"Brothers! Dear fellows! Darlings!" old soldiers exclaimed, weeping,
 as they embraced Cossacks and hussars. The hussars and Cossacks crowded round the prisoners; one offered
 them clothes, another boots, and a third bread. Pierre sobbed as he
 sat among them and could not utter a word. He hugged the first soldier
 who approached him, and kissed him, weeping. Dolokhov stood at the gate of the ruined house, letting a crowd of
 disarmed Frenchmen pass by. The French, excited by all that had
 happened, were talking loudly among themselves, but as they passed
 Dolokhov who gently switched his boots with his whip and watched
 them with cold glassy eyes that boded no good, they became silent.
 On the opposite side stood Dolokhov's Cossack, counting the
 prisoners and marking off each hundred with a chalk line on the gate. "How many?" Dolokhov asked the Cossack. "The second hundred," replied the Cossack. "Filez, filez!"* Dolokhov kept saying, having adopted this
 expression from the French, and when his eyes met those of the
 prisoners they flashed with a cruel light. *"Get along, get along!" Denisov, bareheaded and with a gloomy face, walked behind some
 Cossacks who were carrying the body of Petya Rostov to a hole that had
 been dug in the garden. |