‘Capital,’ said Bolkonsky. ‘But, prince, I have come to you as a petitioner in behalf of this young friend. You see . . .’ But before Prince Andrey could finish, an adjutant came into the room to summon Prince Dolgorukov to the Emperor.
‘Ah, how annoying!’ said Dolgorukov, getting up hurriedly and shaking hands with Prince Andrey and Boris. ‘You know I shall be very glad to do all that depends on me both for you and for this charming young man.’ Once more he shook hands with Boris with an expression of good-natured, genuine, heedless gaiety. ‘But you see . . . another time! ’
Boris was excited by the thought of being so close to the higher powers, as he felt himself to be at that instant. He was conscious here of being in contact with the springs that controlled all those vast movements of the masses, of which in his regiment he felt himself a tiny, humble, and insignificant part. They followed Prince Dolgorukov out into the corridor and met (coming out of the door of the Tsar’s room at which Dolgorukov went in) a short man in civilian dress with a shrewd face and a sharply projecting lower jaw, which, without spoiling his face, gave him a peculiar alertness and shiftiness of expression. This short man nodded to Dolgorukov, as if he were an intimate friend, and stared with an intently cold gaze at Prince Andrey, walking straight towards him and apparently expecting him to bow or move out of his way. Prince Andrey did neither; there was a vindictive look on his face, and the short young man turned away and walked at the side of the corridor.
‘Who’s that?’ asked Boris.
‘That’s one of the most remarkable men—and the most unpleasant to me. The minister of foreign affairs, Prince Adam Tchartorizhsky.’
‘Those are the men,’ added Bolkonsky with a sigh which he could not suppress, as they went out of the palace, ‘those are the men who decide the fates of nations.’
Next day the troops set off on the march, and up to the time of the battle of Austerlitz, Boris did not succeed in seeing Bolkonsky or Dolgorukov again, and remained for a while in the Ismailov regiment.
X
At dawn on the 16th, Denisov's squadron, in which Xikolay Rostov was serving; and which formed part of Prince Bagration's detachment, moved on from its halting place for the night—to advance into action, as was said. After about a mile’s march, in tire rear of other columns, it was brought to a standstill on the high-road. Rostov saw the Cossacks, the first and second squadrons of hussars, and the infantry battalions with the artillery pass him and march on ahead: he also saw the Generals Bagration and Dolgorukov ride by with their adjutants. All the panic he had felt, as before, at the prospect of battle, all the inner conflict by means of which he had overcome that panic, all his dreams of distinguishing himself in true hussar style in this battle—all were for nothing. His squadron was held back in reserve, and Xikolay Rostov spent a tedious and wretched day. About nine o'clock in the morning he heard firing ahead of him. and shouts of hurrah, saw the wounded being brought back i there were not many of them), and finally saw a whole detachment of French cavalry being brought away in the midst of a company of Cossacks. Obviously the action was over, and the action had. obviously, been a small one. but successful. The soldiers and officers as they came back were talking of a brilliant victory, of the taking of the town of Yishau. and a whole French squadron taken prisoners. The day was bright and sunny after a sharo frost at night, and the cheerful brightness of the autumn day was in keeping with the news of victory, which was told not only by the accounts of those who had taken part in it, but by the joyful expression of soldiers, officers, generals, and adjutants, who rode to and fro by Rostov. All the greater was the pang in Xikolay's heart that he should have suffered the dread that goes before the battle for nothing, and have spent that happy day in inactivity-.
•Rostov, come here, let's drink "begone, dull care! " ' shouted Denisov, sitting at the roadside before a bottle and some edibles. The officers gathered in a ring, eating and talking, round Denisov's wine-case.
Here they're bringing another!’ said one of the officers, pointing to a French prisoner, a dragoon, who was being led on foot by- two Cossacks. One of them was leading by the bridle the prisoner's horse, a tall and beautiful French beast.
'Sell the horse?' Denisov called to the Cossacks.
"If you will, your honour.’
