As soon as the butler had left the room, Pierre had taken up his hat, hich was lying on the table, and gone out by the other door. He found 0 one in the corridor. Pierre walked the whole length of the corridor ) the staircase, and frowning and rubbing his forehead with both hands, je went down as far as the first story landing. The porter was standing at le front door. A second staircase led from the landing to the back ntrance. Pierre went down the back stairs and out into the yard. No ne had seen him. But as soon as he turned out at the gates into the street, le coachman, standing by the carriages, and the gate-porter saw him nd took off their caps to him. Aware of their eyes fixed on him, Pierre id, as the ostrich does, hiding its head in a bush to escape being seen: licking his head and quickening his pace he hurried along the street.
Of all the business awaiting Pierre that morning, the task of sorting ,ie books and papers of Osip Alexyevitch seemed to him the most urgent. He hailed the first cab-driver he came across, and told him to drive to atriarch’s Ponds, where was the house of the widow of Bazdyev.
I Continually watching the loaded vehicles moving out of Moscow ‘om all directions, and balancing his bulky person carefully not to slip
out of the rickety old chaise, Pierre had the happy sensation of a runaway schoolboy, as he chatted with his driver.
The latter told him that to-day arms were being given out in the Krem lin, and that next day every one would be driven out beyond the Threi Hills Gate, and there there was to be a great battle.
On reaching the Patriarch’s Ponds, Pierre looked for Bazdyev’s house where he had not been for a long while past. He went up to a little gardei gate. Gerasim, the yellow, beardless old man Pierre had seen five year before at Torzhok with Osip Alexyevitch, came out on hearing him knock
‘At home?’ asked Pierre.
‘Owing to present circumstances, Sofya Danilovna and her childrei have gone away into the country, your excellency.’
‘I’ll come in, all the same; I want to look through the books,’ sail Pierre.
‘Pray do, you are very welcome; the brother of my late master—thij heavenly kingdom be his!—Makar Alexyevitch has remained, but you honour is aware he is in feeble health,’ said the old servant.
Makar Alexyevitch was, as Pierre knew, a brother of Osip Alexyevitch ' a half-mad creature, besotted by drink.
‘Yes, yes, I know. Let us go in,’ said Pierre, and he went into the house A tall, bald old man in a dressing-gown, with a red nose and goloshe: on his bare feet, was standing in the vestibule; seeing Pierre, he mutterei something angrily, and walked away into the corridor.
‘He was a great intellect, but now, as your honour can see, he has growi feeble,’ said Gerasim. ‘Will you like to go into the study?’ Pierre nodded ‘As it was sealed up, so it has remained. Sofya Danilovna gave order: that if you sent for the books they were to be handed over.’
Pierre went into the gloomy study, which he had entered with suck trepidation in the lifetime of his benefactor. Now covered with dust, ani untouched since the death of Osip Alexyevitch, the room was gloomie than ever.
Gerasim opened one blind, and went out of the room on tiptoe. Pierr walked round the study, went up to the bookcase, where the manuscript were kept, and took one of the most important, at one time a sacred rell of the order. This consisted of the long Scottish acts of the order, witl Bazdyev’s notes and commentaries. Pie sat down to the dusty writing table and laid the manuscripts down before him, opened and closed them and at last, pushing them away, sank into thought, with his elbow 01 the table and his head in his hand.
Several times Gerasim peeped cautiously into the study and saw tha Pierre was sitting in the same attitude.
More than two hours passed by. Gerasim ventured to make a sligh noise at the door to attract Pierre’s attention. Pierre did not hear him.
‘Is the driver to be dismissed, your honour?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Pierre, waking up from his reverie, and hurriedly gettin: up. ‘Listen,’ he said, taking Gerasim by the button of his coat and lookin;
WAR AND PEACE own at the old man with moist, shining, eager eyes. ‘Listen! You know lat to-morrow there is to be a battle . . .’
‘They have been saying so . . answered Gerasim.
‘I beg you not to tell any one who I am. And do what I tell you . . .’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Gerasim. ‘Would your honour like something to it?’
‘No, but I want something else. I want a peasant dress and a pistol,’ lid Pierre, suddenly flushing red.
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Gerasim, after a moment’s thought.
All the rest of that day Pierre spent alone in his benefactor’s study, acing restlessly from one corner to the other, as Gerasim could hear, nd talking to himself; and he spent the night on a bed made up for im there.
