The captain returned to the room, limping slightly and whistling atune.

　　The Frenchman's chatter which had previously amused Pierre nowrepelled him. The tune he was whistling, his gait, and the gesturewith which he twirled his mustache, all now seemed offensive. "Iwill go away immediately. I won't say another word to him," thoughtPierre. He thought this, but still sat in the same place. A strangefeeling of weakness tied him to the spot; he wished to get up and goaway, but could not do so.

　　The captain, on the other hand, seemed very cheerful. He paced upand down the room twice. His eyes shone and his mustache twitched asif he were smiling to himself at some amusing thought.

　　"The colonel of those Wurttembergers is delightful," he suddenlysaid. "He's a German, but a nice fellow all the same.... But he's aGerman." He sat down facing Pierre. "By the way, you know German,then?"

　　Pierre looked at him in silence.

　　"What is the German for 'shelter'?"

　　"Shelter?" Pierre repeated. "The German for shelter is Unterkunft."

　　"How do you say it?" the captain asked quickly and doubtfully.

　　"Unterkunft," Pierre repeated.

　　"Onterkoff," said the captain and looked at Pierre for someseconds with laughing eyes. "These Germans are first-rate fools, don'tyou think so, Monsieur Pierre?" he concluded.

　　"Well, let's have another bottle of this Moscow Bordeaux, shallwe? Morel will warm us up another little bottle. Morel!" he called outgaily.

　　Morel brought candles and a bottle of wine. The captain looked atPierre by the candlelight and was evidently struck by the troubledexpression on his companion's face. Ramballe, with genuine distressand sympathy in his face, went up to Pierre and bent over him.