“Ah, what a beauty! Thank you, sweetheart!”
He took some gold pieces from his trouser pocket and put them on the dish for her. “Well, my dear, and how are we getting on?” he asked, moving to the door of the room assigned to him. The priest’s wife smiled, and with dimples in her rosy cheeks followed him into the room. The adjutant came out to the porch and asked Prince Andréy to lunch with him. Half an hour later Prince Andréy was again called to Kutúzov. He found him reclining in an armchair, still in the same unbuttoned overcoat. He had in his hand a French book which he closed as Prince Andréy entered, marking the place with a knife. Prince Andréy saw by the cover that it was Les Chevaliers du Cygne by Madame de Genlis.
“Well, sit down, sit down here. Let’s have a talk,” said Kutúzov. “It’s sad, very sad. But remember, my dear fellow, that I am a father to you, a second father. …”
Prince Andréy told Kutúzov all he knew of his father’s death, and what he had seen at Bald Hills when he passed through it.
“What … what they have brought us to!” Kutúzov suddenly cried in an agitated voice, evidently picturing vividly to himself from Prince Andréy’s story the condition Russia was in. “But give me time, give me time!” he said with a grim look, evidently not wishing to continue this agitating conversation, and added: “I sent for you to keep you with me.”
“I thank your Serene Highness, but I fear I am no longer fit for the staff,” replied Prince Andréy with a smile which Kutúzov noticed.
Kutúzov glanced inquiringly at him.
“But above all,” added Prince Andréy, “I have grown used to my regiment, am fond of the officers, and I fancy the men also like me. I should be sorry to leave the regiment. If I decline the honor of being with you, believe me …”