immense number of things passed dimly through both their
minds, and they realized that they were both children of humanity and
were brothers.

At the first glance, when Davout had only raised his head from the
papers where human affairs and lives were indicated by numbers, Pierre
was merely a circumstance, and Davout could have shot him without
burdening his conscience with an evil deed, but now he saw in him a
human being. He reflected for a moment.

"How can you show me that you are telling the truth?" said Davout
coldly.

Pierre remembered Ramballe, and named him and his regiment and the
street where the house was.

"You are not what you say," returned Davout.

In a trembling, faltering voice Pierre began adducing proofs of the
truth of his statements.

But at that moment an adjutant entered and reported something to Davout.

Davout brightened up at the news the adjutant brought, and began
buttoning up his uniform. It seemed that he had quite forgotten Pierre.

When the adjutant reminded him of the prisoner, he jerked his head in
Pierre's direction with a frown and ordered him to be led away. But
where they were to take him Pierre did not know: back to the coach house
or to the place of execution his companions had pointed out to him as
they crossed the Virgin's Field.

He turned his head and saw that the adjutant was putting another
question to Davout.

"Yes, of course!" replied Davout, but what this "yes" meant, Pierre did
not know.

Pierre could not afterwards remember how he went, whether it was far, or
in which direction. His faculties were quite numbed, he was stupefied,
and noticing nothing around him went on moving his legs as the others
did till they all stopped and he stopped too. The only thought in his
mind at that time was: who was it that had really sentenced him to
death? Not the men on the commission that had first examined him--not
one of them wished to or, evidently, could have done it. It was not
Davout, who had looked at him in so human a way. In another moment
Davout would have realized that he was doing wrong, but just then
the adjutant had come in and interrupted him. The adjutant, also, had
evidently had no evil intent though he might have refrained from coming
in. Then who was executing him, killing him, depriving him of life--him,
Pierre, with all his memories, aspirations, hopes, and thoughts? Who was
doing this? And Pierre felt that it was no one.

It was a system--a concur