‘He lets me have the simple, and beats the parole; lets me get the simple, and beats the parole.’
He scattered the sparks, broke the pipe, and threw it away. Then Denisov paused, and all at once he glanced brightly at Rostov with his gleaming black eyes.
‘If there were only women. But here, except drinking, there’s nothing to do. If only we could get to fighting soon. . . . Hey, who’s there?’ he called towards the door, catching the sounds of thick boots and clanking spurs that came to a stop, and of a respectful cough.
‘The sergeant!’ said Lavrushka. Denisov puckered up his face more than ever.
‘That’s a nuisance,’ he said, flinging down a purse with several gold coins in it. ‘Rostov, count, there’s a dear boy how much is left, and put the purse under the pillow,’ he said, and he went out to the sergeant. Rostov took the money and mechanically sorting and arranging in heaps the old and new gold, he began counting it over.
‘Ah, Telyanin! Good-morning! I was cleaned out last night,’ he heard Denisov’s voice saying from the other room.
‘Where was that? At Bykov’s? at the rat’s? ... I knew it,’ said a thin voice, and thereupon there walked into the room Lieutenant Telyanin, a little officer in the same squadron.
Rostov put the purse under the pillow, and shook the damp little hand that was offered him. Telyanin had for some reason been transferred
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from the guards just before the regiment set out. He had behaved very well in the regiment, but he was not liked, and Rostov, in particular, could not endure him, and could not conceal his groundless aversion for this officer.
‘Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook doing for you?’ (Rook was a riding-horse Telyanin had sold to Rostov.) The lieutenant never looked the person he was speaking to in the face. His eyes were continually flitting from one object to another. ‘I saw you riding to-day . . .’
‘Oh, he’s all right; a good horse,’ answered Rostov, though the horse, for which he had paid seven hundred roubles, was not worth half that sum. ‘He’s begun to go a little lame in the left fore leg . . .’ he added.
‘The hoof cracked! That’s no matter. I’ll teach you, I’ll show you the sort of thing to put on it.’
‘Yes, please do,’ said Rostov.
‘I’ll show you, I’ll show you; it’s not a secret. But you’ll be grateful to me for that horse.’
‘Then I’ll have the horse brought round,’ said Rostov, anxious to be rid of Telyanin. He went out to order the horse to be brought round.
In the outer room Denisov was squatting on the threshold with a pipe, facing the sergeant, who was giving him some report. On seeing Rostov, Denisov screwed up his eyes, and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and shook his head with an air of loathing.
‘Ugh! I don’t like the fellow,’ he said, regardless of the presence of the sergeant.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders as though to say, ‘Nor do I, but what’s one to do?’ And having given his order, he went back to Telyanin.
The latter was still sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his little white hands.
‘What nasty faces there are in this world! ’ thought Rostov as he went into the room.
‘Well, have you given orders for the horse to be fetched out?’ said Telyanin, getting up and looking carelessly about him.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you come along yourself. I only came round to ask Denisov about yesterday’s order. Have you got it, Denisov?’
‘Not yet. But where are you off to?’
‘I’m going to show this young man here how to shoe a horse,’ said Telyanin.
They went out down the steps and into the stable. The lieutenant showed how to put on the remedy, and went away to his own quarters.
When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and some sausage on the table. Denisov was sitting at the table, and his pen was squeaking over the paper. He looked gloomily into Rostov’s face.
‘I am writing to her,’ he said. He leaned his elbow on the table with the pen in his hand, and obviously rejoiced at the possibility of saying by word of mouth all he meant to write, he told the contents of his letter
ii6 WARANDPEACE
to Rostov. ‘You see, my dear boy,’ he said, ‘we are plunged in slumber, we are the children of dust and ashes, until we love . . . but love, and you are a god, you are pure, as on the first day of creation. . . . Who’s that now? Send him to the devil! I’ve no time! ’ he shouted to Lavrushka, who, not in the slightest daunted, went up to him.
‘Why, who should it be? You told him to come yourself. The sergeant has come for the money.’
Denisov frowned, seemed about to shout some leply, but did not speak.
‘It’s a nuisance,’ he said to himself. ‘How much money was there left there in the purse?’ he asked Rostov.
‘Seven new and three old gold pieces.’
‘Oh, it’s a nuisance! Well, why are you standing there, you mummy? Send the sergeant!’ Denisov shouted to Lavrushka.
‘Please, Denisov, take the money from me; I’ve plenty,’ said Rostov, blushing.
