* “Who goes there?”
The blood rushed to Pétya’s face and he grasped his pistol.
“Lanciers du 6-me,” * replied Dólokhov, neither hastening nor slackening his horse’s pace.
* “Lancers of the 6th Regiment.”
The black figure of a sentinel stood on the bridge.
“Mot d’ordre.” *
* “Password.”
Dólokhov reined in his horse and advanced at a walk.
“Dites donc, le colonel Gérard est ici?” * he asked.
* “Tell me, is Colonel Gérard here?”