A cold and shivering French drummer boy is Denisov's prisoner and Petya gives the youth some warm food. Dolohov wishes to shoot the prisoner but Denisov protects his charge. Petya's moment of daring occurs when he and Dolohov, disguised as French officers, pass through the enemy lines to spy out their disposition. Denisov is relieved to have the boy return safely and Petya can barely sleep for the excitement of the next day.
Before sunrise, Dolohov's Cossacks and Denisov's band attack the French. Petya gallops ahead, eager to sight the enemy. He is shot from ambush and dies instantly. The quick skirmish is successful and liberates many Russian prisoners. Pierre is among the men freed.
Pierre has marched for more than three weeks, suffering intense privations which have killed two-thirds of the other prisoners. Through his ordeal, he has learned there is nothing in the world to dread; man is created for happiness, and that happiness lies in itself. Superfluity, not privation, is the force that imprisons mankind. Freedom exists when one learns the limits of suffering, when one can recall soothing memories to overcome physical anguish. This feeling, or avoidance of feeling, is the vitality Pierre discovers every human being can possess.
Platon Karataev grew increasingly weaker from his fever and Pierre began to avoid him. One night at a campfire he listened to a story the peasant had told many times before. The story told of an innocent man imprisoned in Siberia for murder. Telling the tale of his frame-up to his barracks-mates, the old man meets the man who committed the actual murder and who begs forgiveness. But when the pardon from the tsar finally arrives, the innocent sufferer is already dead. Karataev's face expresses ecstasy at the end of his tale, and the mysterious significance of that gladness fills Pierre's soul with joy. By morning, Karataev is too ill to move, and as some French soldiers advance toward the sick man, Pierre exchanges a final glance with his friend. He hears the shot and never looks back.
