Anatol with his victorious appearance came up to the window. He wanted to break something. He pushed the footmen away and pulled the frame, but the frame did not give up. He broke the glass.
- You're a strong man," he said to Pierre.
Pierre took up the bars, pulled and cracked where he broke it, where he turned out the oak frame.
- They'll think I'm holding on," Dolokhov said.
- The Englishman brags... huh?... okay? - Anatol said.
- Well," said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who took a bottle of rum in his hands and came to the window, from which the light of the sky could be seen and the morning and evening dawn merged on it.
Dolokhov with a bottle of rum in his hand jumped onto the window.
- Listen! - He shouted, standing on the window sill and turning to the room. Everybody stopped talking.
- I bet (he spoke French to be understood by an Englishman, and did not speak too well in that language). I bet fifty imperialists, you want a hundred? - He added to it, addressing the Englishman.
- No, fifty," said the Englishman.
- Okay, fifty imperialists," he said, "said, "that I would drink a bottle of rum all the way out of my mouth, sitting outside the window and sitting right here (he bent over and showed a sloping wall protrusion outside the window), without holding onto anything... So...?
- Very well," said the Englishman.
Anatol turned to the Englishman and, taking him by the tail button and looking at him from above (the Englishman was short), began to repeat the betting conditions to him in English.
- Wait," Dolokhov shouted, knocking a bottle on the window to draw attention to himself. - Wait, Kuragin; listen. If anyone does the same thing, I'm paying 100 imperialists. Do you understand?
The Englishman nodded his head, not letting him know whether he intends to accept this new bet or not. Anatol did not let the Englishman go, and although he nodded and let him know that he understood everything, Anatol translated Dolokhov's words into English. The young skinny boy, the label hussar, who had lost that evening, climbed up the window and looked down.
- Ooh! - He talked while looking out the window at the sidewalk stone.
- Hold still," Dolokhov shouted and pulled the officer off the window, who, tangled in spurs, awkwardly jumped into the room.
He put the bottle on the window sill so that it would be convenient to get it, and Dolokhov gently and quietly climbed out the window. With his legs down and both hands in the edges of the window, he tried on, sat down, let go of his hands, moved to the right, left, and pulled out the bottle. Anatol brought two candles and put them on the window sill, though it was already quite light. Dolokhov's back in a white shirt and his curly head were lit on both sides. Everybody crowded by the window. The Englishman was standing in front. Pierre smiled and said nothing. One of the older people present, with a frightened and angry face, suddenly moved forward and wanted to grab Dolokhov by his shirt.
- Gentlemen, this is nonsense; he will be killed to death," said this more prudent man.
Anatole stopped him.
- Do not touch him, you will frighten him, he will be killed. А?.. What then? А?..
Dolokhov turned around, recovering and spreading his arms again.
- If anybody else comes to me," he said, seldom passing words through clenched and thin lips, "I'll let him down here. Well!...
When he said, "Well," he turned around again, let go of his hands, took the bottle and brought it to his mouth, put his head back and threw his free hand up to outweigh him. One of the footmen, who began to pick up the windows, stopped in a bent position, keeping an eye on Dolokhov's window and back. Anatol stood upright, with his eyes open. The Englishman, sticking his lips forward, looked at the side. The one who stopped, ran away to the corner of the room and lay on the sofa facing the wall. Pierre covered his face, and a weak smile, forgotten, stayed on his face, though it now expressed horror and fear. Everyone was silent. Pierre took his hands off his eyes. Dolokhov was sitting in the same position, but his head bent backwards, so that the curly hair of the back of his head touched the collar of his shirt, and the hand with the bottle rose higher and higher, shaking and making an effort. The bottle must have emptied and at the same time rose, bending its head. "What took so long? - Pierre thought. It seemed to him that more than half an hour had passed. Suddenly, Dolokhov made a move backwards with his back, and his hand trembled nervously; this shudder was enough to move the whole body sitting on the slope. He moved the whole thing, and they trembled even more, making an effort, his hand and head. One hand rose to grab the window sill, but fell again. Pierre closed his eyes again and told himself that he would never open them. Suddenly he felt that everything was moving. He looked: Dolokhov was standing on the window sill, his face was pale and funny.
- Empty!
He threw a bottle to the Englishman, who cleverly caught her. Dolokhov jumped from the window. He smelled a lot of rum from him.
- Great! Well done! That's how you bet! Damn you at all! - screaming from different sides.
The Englishman, taking out his wallet, counted down the money. Dolokhov frowned and kept silent. Pierre jumped on the window.
- Gentlemen! Who wants to bet with me? I will do the same," he shouted. - And there's no need to bet, that's what. Tell him to give me the bottle. I'll do... I'll do it.
- Let it go, let it go! - Dolokhov said