“So you want to smell gunpowder?” he said to Pierre. “Yes, it’s a pleasant smell. I have the honor to be one of your wife’s adorers. Is she well? My quarters are at your service.”
And as often happens with old people, Kutúzov began looking about absentmindedly as if forgetting all he wanted to say or do.
Then, evidently remembering what he wanted, he beckoned to Andréy Sergéitch Kaysárov, his adjutant’s brother.
“Those verses … those verses of Márin’s … how do they go, eh? Those he wrote about Gerákov: ‘Lectures for the corps inditing’ … Recite them, recite them!” said he, evidently preparing to laugh.
Kaysárov recited. … Kutúzov smilingly nodded his head to the rhythm of the verses.
When Pierre had left Kutúzov, Dólokhov came up to him and took his hand.
“I am very glad to meet you here, Count,” he said aloud, regardless of the presence of strangers and in a particularly resolute and solemn tone. “On the eve of a day when God alone knows who of us is fated to survive, I am glad of this opportunity to tell you that I regret the misunderstandings that occurred between us and should wish you not to have any ill feeling for me. I beg you to forgive me.”
Pierre looked at Dólokhov with a smile, not knowing what to say to him. With tears in his eyes Dólokhov embraced Pierre and kissed him.
Borís said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen turned to Pierre and proposed that he should ride with him along the line.
“It will interest you,” said he.
“Yes, very much,” replied Pierre.