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"You will soon be dressing your men in petticoats! What is this?"

shouted the regimental commander, thrusting forward his jaw and

pointing at a soldier in the ranks of the third company in a

greatcoat of bluish cloth, which contrasted with the others.

"What have you been after? The commander in chief is expected and

you leave your place? Eh? I'll teach you to dress the men in

fancy coats for a parade.... Eh...?"

The commander of the company, with his eyes fixed on his

superior, pressed two fingers more and more rigidly to his cap,

as if in this pressure lay his only hope of salvation.

"Well, why don't you speak? Whom have you got there dressed up as

a Hungarian?" said the commander with an austere gibe.

"Your excellency..."

"Well, your excellency, what? Your excellency! But what about

your excellency?... nobody knows."

"Your excellency, it's the officer Dolokhov, who has been reduced

to the ranks," said the captain softly.