Close to the corner, on an overcoat, sat an old, unshaven, gray-bearded soldier as thin as a skeleton, with a stern sallow face and eyes intently fixed on Rostov.

The man's neighbor on one side whispered something to him, pointing at Rostov, who noticed that the old man wanted to speak to him.

He drew nearer and saw that the old man had only one leg bent under him, the other had been amputated above the knee.

His neighbor on the other side, who lay motionless some distance from him with his head thrown back, was a young soldier with a snub nose.

His pale waxen face was still freckled and his eyes were rolled back.