- Come here - break the bet! - It was Dolokhov, a Semyonov officer, a famous player and a brethren who lived with Anatol. Pierre smiled, having fun looking around.
- I don't understand anything. What's the matter? - He asked.
- Wait, he wasn't drunk. Give me the bottle," said Anatole, who took a glass off the table and went up to Pierre.
- First of all, drink.
Pierre drank a glass by the glass, sneaking around looking at the drunk guests who were crowding by the window again and listening to their words. Anatol poured him wine and told him that Dolokhov was betting with the Englishman Stevens, the sailor who had been here, that he, Dolokhov, would drink a bottle of rum sitting on the window of the third floor with his feet down.
- Well, drink all of it," said Anatole, serving the last glass to Pierre.
- No, I don't want to," said Pierre, pushing Anatole away, and came to the window.
Dolokhov held the Englishman's hand and clearly, clearly stated the terms of the bet, addressing mainly Anatoly and Pierre.
Dolokhov was a man of medium height, curly and with light blue eyes. He was twenty-five years old. He did not wear a mustache like all the infantry officers, and his mouth, the most striking feature of his face, was all visible. The lines of this mouth were remarkably finely curved. In the midst of the upper lip sank energetically to the strong lower sharp wedge, and in the corners formed a constant something like two smiles, one on each side, and all together, and especially in conjunction with a firm, insolent, clever look, it was as if it were impossible not to notice this face. Dolokhov was a poor man, without any connections. And despite the fact that Anatol lived tens of thousands, Dolokhov lived with him and managed to put himself in such a way that Anatol and all those who knew them respected Dolokhov more than Anatol. Dolokhov played all the games and almost always won. No matter how much he drank, he never lost his head. Both Kuragin and Dolokhov were celebrities in the world at the time, hanging and cursing St. Petersburg.
A bottle of rum was brought in; a frame that would not allow the window to sit on the outer slope was broken out by two footmen, apparently in a hurry and timid manner from the advice and shouts of the surrounding gentlemen.
Anatol, with his victorious appearance, approached 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.