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 …”
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