papers have to be signed.”
An adjutant came out and announced that everything was in readiness within. But Kutúzov evidently did not wish to enter that room till he was disengaged. He made a grimace. …
“No, tell them to bring a small table out here, my dear boy. I’ll look at them here,” said he.
“Don’t go away,” he added, turning to Prince Andréy, who remained in the porch and listened to the general’s report.
While this was being given, Prince Andréy heard the whisper of a woman’s voice and the rustle of a silk dress behind the door. Several times on glancing that way he noticed behind that door a plump, rosy, handsome woman in a pink dress with a lilac silk kerchief on her head, holding a dish and evidently awaiting the entrance of the commander in chief. Kutúzov’s adjutant whispered to Prince Andréy that this was the wife of the priest whose home it was, and that she intended to offer his Serene Highness bread and salt. “Her husband has welcomed his Serene Highness with the cross at the church, and she intends to welcome him in the house. … She’s very pretty,” added the adjutant with a smile. At those words Kutúzov looked round. He was listening to the general’s report—which consisted chiefly of a criticism of the position at Tsárevo-Zaymíshche—as he had listened to Denísov, and seven years previously had listened to the discussion at the Austerlitz council of war. He evidently listened only because he had ears which, though there was a piece of tow in one of them, could not help hearing; but it was evident that nothing the general could say would surprise or even interest him,