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"Stop those wretches!" gasped Kutuzov to the regimental

commander, pointing to the flying soldiers; but at that instant,

as if to punish him for those words, bullets flew hissing across

the regiment and across Kutuzov's suite like a flock of little

birds.

The French had attacked the battery and, seeing Kutuzov, were

firing at him. After this volley the regimental commander

clutched at his leg; several soldiers fell, and a second

lieutenant who was holding the flag let it fall from his hands.

It swayed and fell, but caught on the muskets of the nearest

soldiers. The soldiers started firing without orders.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" groaned Kutuzov despairingly and looked around....

"Bolkonski!" he whispered, his voice trembling from a

consciousness of the feebleness of age, "Bolkonski!" he

whispered, pointing to the disordered battalion and at the enemy,

"what's that?"