“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 like me!”

“I killed,” said Napoleonder, “because it was necessary for me to conquer the world.”

“But what have I got to do with your conquering the world?” replied the soldier.  “Conquer it, if you want to—­I don’t hinder.  But why did you kill me?  Has killing me given you the world?  The world doesn’t belong to me.  You’re not reasonable, brother Napoleonder.  And is it possible that you really think you can conquer the whole world?”

“I’m very much of that opinion,” replied Napoleonder.

The little soldier smiled.  “You’re really stupid, Napoleonder,” he said.  “I’m sorry for you.  As if it were possible to conquer the whole world!”

“I’ll subdue all the kingdoms,” replied Napoleonder, “and put all peoples in chains, and then I’ll reign as Tsar of all the earth.”

The soldier shook his head.  “And God?” he inquired.  “Will you conquer him?”

Napoleonder was confused.  “No,” he finally said.  “God’s will is over us all; and in the hollow of his hand we live.”

“Then what’s the use of your conquering the world?” said the soldier.  “God is all; therefore the world won’t belong to you, but to him.  And you’ll live just so long as he has patience with you, and no longer.”

“I know that as well as you do,” said Napoleonder.

“Well, then,” replied the soldier, “if you know it, why don’t you reckon with God?”

Napoleonder scowled.  “Don’t say such things to me!” he cried.  “I’ve heard that sanctimonious stuff before.  It’s of no use.  You can’t fool me!  I don’t know any such thing as pity.”

“Indeed,” said the soldier, “is it so?  Have a care, Napoleonder!  You are swaggering too much.  You lie when you say a man can live without pity.  To have a soul, and to feel compassion, are one and the same thing.  You have a soul, haven’t you?”