The quartermaster frowned, looking at the soldiers as if threatening to punish them.
Cadet Mironov ducked every time a ball flew past.
Rostov on the left flank, mounted on his Rook--a handsome horse despite its game leg--had the happy air of a schoolboy called up before a large audience for an examination in which he feels sure he will distinguish himself.
He was glancing at everyone with a clear, bright expression, as if asking them to notice how calmly he sat under fire.