“Oh, so that is Vereshchágin!” said Pierre, looking at the firm, calm face of the old man and seeking any indication of his being a traitor.
“That’s not he himself, that’s the father of the fellow who wrote the proclamation,” said the adjutant. “The young man is in prison and I expect it will go hard with him.”
An old gentleman wearing a star and another official, a German wearing a cross round his neck, approached the speaker.
“It’s a complicated story, you know,” said the adjutant. “That proclamation appeared about two months ago. The count was informed of it. He gave orders to investigate the matter. Gavrílo Ivánovich here made the inquiries. The proclamation had passed through exactly sixty-three hands. He asked one, ‘From whom did you get it?’ ‘From so-and-so.’ He went to the next one. ‘From whom did you get it?’ and so on till he reached Vereshchágin, a half educated tradesman, you know, ‘a pet of a trader,’ ” said the adjutant smiling. “They asked him, ‘Who gave it you?’ And the point is that we knew whom he had it from. He could only have had it from the Postmaster. But evidently they had come to some understanding. He replied: ‘From no one; I made it up myself.’ They threatened and questioned him, but he stuck to that: ‘I made it up myself.’ And so it was reported to the count, who sent for the man. ‘From whom did you get the proclamation?’ ‘I wrote it myself.’ Well, you know the count,” said the adjutant cheerfully, with a smile of pride, “he flared up dreadfully—and just think of the fellow’s audacity, lying, and obstinacy!”
“And the count wanted him to say it was from Klyucharëv? I understand!” said Pierre.
“Not at all,” rejoined the adjutant in dismay. “Klyucharëv had his own sins to answer for without that and that is why he has been banished. But the point is that the count was much annoyed. ‘How could you have