and Podnovínsk Streets came several other trains of vehicles similar to the Rostóvs’, and as they passed along the Sadóvaya Street the carriages and carts formed two rows abreast.
As they were going round the Súkharev water tower Natásha, who was inquisitively and alertly scrutinizing the people driving or walking past, suddenly cried out in joyful surprise:
“Dear me! Mamma, Sónya, look, it’s he!”
“Who? Who?”
“Look! Yes, on my word, it’s Bezúkhov!” said Natásha, putting her head out of the carriage and staring at a tall, stout man in a coachman’s long coat, who from his manner of walking and moving was evidently a gentleman in disguise, and who was passing under the arch of the Súkharev tower accompanied by a small, sallow-faced, beardless old man in a frieze coat.
“Yes, it really is Bezúkhov in a coachman’s coat, with a queer-looking old