A shrewd, kindly, yet subtly derisive expression lit up Kutúzov’s podgy face. He cut Bolkónski short.
“I am sorry, for I need you. But you’re right, you’re right! It’s not here that men are needed. Advisers are always plentiful, but men are not. The regiments would not be what they are if the would-be advisers served there as you do. I remember you at Austerlitz. … I remember, yes, I remember you with the standard!” said Kutúzov, and a flush of pleasure suffused Prince Andréy’s face at this recollection.
Taking his hand and drawing him downwards, Kutúzov offered his cheek to be kissed, and again Prince Andréy noticed tears in the old man’s eyes. Though Prince Andréy knew that Kutúzov’s tears came easily, and that he was particularly tender to and considerate of him from a wish to show sympathy with his loss, yet this reminder of Austerlitz was both pleasant and flattering to him.
“Go your way and God be with you. I know your path is the path of honor!” He paused. “I missed you at Bucharest, but I needed someone to send.” And changing the subject, Kutúzov began to speak of the Turkish war and