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Chapter 5

  • "Well begin!" said Dolokhov.
  • "All right," said Pierre, still smiling in the same way. A feeling of drea_as in the air. It was evident that the affair so lightly begun could n_onger be averted but was taking its course independently of men's will.
  • Denisov first went to the barrier and announced: "As the adve'sawies hav_efused a weconciliation, please pwoceed. Take your pistols, and at the wor_hwee begin to advance.
  • "O-ne! T-wo! Thwee!" he shouted angrily and stepped aside.
  • The combatants advanced along the trodden tracks, nearer and nearer to on_nother, beginning to see one another through the mist. They had the right t_ire when they liked as they approached the barrier. Dolokhov walked slowl_ithout raising his pistol, looking intently with his bright, sparkling blu_yes into his antagonist's face. His mouth wore its usual semblance of _mile.
  • "So I can fire when I like!" said Pierre, and at the word "three," he wen_uickly forward, missing the trodden path and stepping into the deep snow. H_eld the pistol in his right hand at arm's length, apparently afraid o_hooting himself with it. His left hand he held carefully back, because h_ished to support his right hand with it and knew he must not do so. Havin_dvanced six paces and strayed off the track into the snow, Pierre looked dow_t his feet, then quickly glanced at Dolokhov and, bending his finger as h_ad been shown, fired. Not at all expecting so loud a report, Pierre shuddere_t the sound and then, smiling at his own sensations, stood still. The smoke,
  • rendered denser by the mist, prevented him from seeing anything for a_nstant, but there was no second report as he had expected. He only hear_olokhov's hurried steps, and his figure came in view through the smoke. H_as pressing one hand to his left side, while the other clutched his droopin_istol. His face was pale. Rostov ran toward him and said something.
  • "No-o-o!" muttered Dolokhov through his teeth, "no, it's not over." And afte_tumbling a few staggering steps right up to the saber, he sank on the sno_eside it. His left hand was bloody; he wiped it on his coat and supporte_imself with it. His frowning face was pallid and quivered.
  • "Plea… " began Dolokhov, but could not at first pronounce the word.
  • "Please," he uttered with an effort.
  • Pierre, hardly restraining his sobs, began running toward Dolokhov and wa_bout to cross the space between the barriers, when Dolokhov cried:
  • "To your barrier!" and Pierre, grasping what was meant, stopped by his saber.
  • Only ten paces divided them. Dolokhov lowered his head to the snow, greedil_it at it, again raised his head, adjusted himself, drew in his legs and sa_p, seeking a firm center of gravity. He sucked and swallowed the cold snow,
  • his lips quivered but his eyes, still smiling, glittered with effort an_xasperation as he mustered his remaining strength. He raised his pistol an_imed.
  • "Sideways! Cover yourself with your pistol!" ejaculated Nesvitski.
  • "Cover yourself!" even Denisov cried to his adversary.
  • Pierre, with a gentle smile of pity and remorse, his arms and legs helplessl_pread out, stood with his broad chest directly facing Dolokhov looke_orrowfully at him. Denisov, Rostov, and Nesvitski closed their eyes. At th_ame instant they heard a report and Dolokhov's angry cry.
  • "Missed!" shouted Dolokhov, and he lay helplessly, face downwards on the snow.
  • Pierre clutched his temples, and turning round went into the forest, tramplin_hrough the deep snow, and muttering incoherent words:
  • "Folly… folly! Death… lies… " he repeated, puckering his face.
  • Nesvitski stopped him and took him home.
  • Rostov and Denisov drove away with the wounded Dolokhov.
  • The latter lay silent in the sleigh with closed eyes and did not answer a wor_o the questions addressed to him. But on entering Moscow he suddenly came t_nd, lifting his head with an effort, took Rostov, who was sitting beside him,
  • by the hand. Rostov was struck by the totally altered and unexpectedl_apturous and tender expression on Dolokhov's face.
  • "Well? How do you feel?" he asked.
  • "Bad! But it's not that, my friend-" said Dolokhov with a gasping voice.
  • "Where are we? In Moscow, I know. I don't matter, but I have killed her,
  • killed… She won't get over it! She won't survive… ."
  • "Who?" asked Rostov.
  • "My mother! My mother, my angel, my adored angel mother," and Dolokhov presse_ostov's hand and burst into tears.
  • When he had become a little quieter, he explained to Rostov that he was livin_ith his mother, who, if she saw him dying, would not survive it. He implore_ostov to go on and prepare her.
  • Rostov went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surprise learne_hat Dolokhov the brawler, Dolokhov the bully, lived in Moscow with an ol_other and a hunchback sister, and was the most affectionate of sons an_rothers.