little mound, he saw a wounded Russian soldier, who was beckoning to him
with his hand. Napoleonder was surprised. What could a wounded Russian
soldier want of him? He turned his horse and rode to the spot. "What do
you want?" he asked the soldier.

"I don't want anything of you," the wounded soldier replied, "except an
answer to one question. Tell me, please, what have you killed me for?"

Napoleonder was still more surprised. In the many years of his
conquering he had wounded and killed a multitude of men; but he had
never been asked that question before. And yet this Russian soldier
didn't look as if he had anything more than ordinary intelligence. He
was just a young, boyish fellow, with light flaxen hair and blue
eyes--evidently a new recruit from some country village.

"What do you mean--'killed you for'?" said Napoleonder. "I had to kill
you. When you went into the army, didn't you take an oath that you
would die?"

"I know what oath I took, Napoleonder, and I'm not making a fuss about
dying. But you--why did you kill me?"

"Why shouldn't I kill you," said Napoleonder, "when you were the
enemy,--that is, my foe,--come out to fight me on the field of
Borodino?"

"Cross yourself, Napoleonder!" said the young soldier. "How could I be
your foe, when there has never been any sort of quarrel between us?
Until you came into our country, and I was drafted into the army, I had
never even heard of you. And here you have killed me--and how many more