Kutuzov, his hands still pressed on the seat to help him up, looked ruefully at Denisov. Denisov, mentioning his name, announced that he had to communicate to his highness a matter of great importance for the welfare of Russia. Kutuzov bent his weary eyes on Denisov, and, lifting his hands with a gesture of annoyance, folded them across his stomach, and repeated, ‘For the welfare of Russia? Well, what is it? Speak.’ Denisov blushed like a girl (it was strange to see the colour come on that hirsute, time-worn, hard-drinking face), and began boldly explaining his plan for cutting the enemy’s line between Smolensk and Vyazma. Denisov’s home was in that region, and he knew the country well. His plan seemed unquestionably a good one, especially with the energy of conviction that was in his words. Kutuzov stared at his own feet, and occasionally looked round towards the yard of the next cottage, as though he were expecting something unpleasant to come from it. From the cottage there did in fact emerge, during Denisov’s speech, a general with a portfolio under his arm.
‘Eh?’ Kutuzov inquired in the middle of Denisov’s exposition, ‘are you ready now?’
‘Yes, your highness,’ said the general. Kutuzov shook his head with an air that seemed to say, ‘How is one man to get through it all?’ and gave his attention again to Denisov.
‘I give you my word of honour as a Russian officer,’ Denisov was saying, ‘that I will cut Napoleon’s communications.’
‘Is Kirill Andreevitch Denisov, the ober-intendant, any relation of yours?’ Kutuzov interposed.
‘My uncle, your highness.’
‘Oh! we used to be friends,’ said Kutuzov, more cheerily. ‘Very good, very good, my dear boy; you stay here on the staff; we’ll have a talk to-morrow.’ Nodding to Denisov, he turned away and put out his hand for the papers Konovnitsyn had brought him.
‘Will not your highness be pleased to walk into the house?’ said the general on duty in a discontented voice; ‘it’s necessary to look through the plans and to sign some papers.’ An adjutant appeared at the door i to announce that everything was in readiness within. But apparently Kutuzov preferred to be rid of business before going indoors. He paused . . .
‘No; have a table placed here, my dear boy; I’ll look through them , here,’ he said. ‘Don’t you go away,’ he added, addressing Prince Andrey. Prince Andrey remained in the porch listening to the general on duty.
While the latter was presenting his report Prince Andrey heard the whisper of a woman’s voice and the rustle of a woman’s silk dress at the door. Several times glancing in that direction he noticed behind the door a plump, rosy-faced, good-looking woman in a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchief on her head. She had a dish in her hand, and was | apparently waiting for the commander-in-chief to enter. Kutuzov’s adjutant explained to Prince Andrey in a whisper that this was the priest’s wife, the mistress of the house, who intended to offer his highness bread
