Война и мир

Chapter 17

           

           OnthenightoftheeleventhofOctoberhelayleaningonhisarmandthinkingofthat.

           TherewasastirinthenextroomandheheardthestepsofToll,Konovnítsyn,andBolkhovítinov.

           “Eh,who’sthere?Comein,comein!Whatnews?”thefieldmarshalcalledouttothem.

           Whileafootmanwaslightingacandle,Tollcommunicatedthesubstanceofthenews.

           “Whobroughtit?”askedKutúzovwithalookwhich,whenthecandlewaslit,struckTollbyitscoldseverity.

           “Therecanbenodoubtaboutit,yourHighness.”

           “Callhimin,callhimhere.”

           Kutúzovsatupwithoneleghangingdownfromthebedandhisbigpaunchrestingagainsttheotherwhichwasdoubledunderhim.Hescreweduphisseeingeyetoscrutinizethemessengermorecarefully,asifwishingtoreadinhisfacewhatpreoccupiedhisownmind.

           “Tellme,tellme,friend,”saidhetoBolkhovítinovinhislow,agedvoice,ashepulledtogethertheshirtwhichgapedopenonhischest,“comenearer—nearer.Whatnewshaveyoubroughtme?Eh?ThatNapoleonhasleftMoscow?Areyousure?Eh?”

           Bolkhovítinovgaveadetailedaccountfromthebeginningofallhehadbeentoldtoreport.

           “Speakquicker,quicker!Don’ttortureme!”Kutúzovinterruptedhim.

           Bolkhovítinovtoldhimeverythingandwasthensilent,awaitinginstructions.TollwasbeginningtosaysomethingbutKutúzovcheckedhim.Hetriedtosaysomething,buthisfacesuddenlypuckeredandwrinkled;hewavedhisarmatTollandturnedtotheoppositesideoftheroom,tothecornerdarkenedbytheiconsthathungthere.

           “OLord,myCreator,Thouhasheardourprayer..

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