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"Well? Has he been degraded into a field marshal, or into a

soldier? If a soldier, he should be dressed in regulation uniform

like the others."

"Your excellency, you gave him leave yourself, on the march."

"Gave him leave? Leave? That's just like you young men," said the

regimental commander cooling down a little. "Leave indeed.... One

says a word to you and you... What?" he added with renewed

irritation, "I beg you to dress your men decently."

And the commander, turning to look at the adjutant, directed his

jerky steps down the line. He was evidently pleased at his own

display of anger and walking up to the regiment wished to find a

further excuse for wrath. Having snapped at an officer for an

unpolished badge, at another because his line was not straight,

he reached the third company.

"H-o-o-w are you standing? Where's your leg? Your leg?" shouted

the commander with a tone of suffering in his voice, while there

were still five men between him and Dolokhov with his bluish-gray

uniform.