He pulled himself together, looked round, screwing up his eyes, glanced at Prince Andréy, and, evidently not recognizing him, moved with his waddling gait to the porch. “Whew … whew … whew!” he whistled, and again glanced at Prince Andréy. As often occurs with old men, it was only after some seconds that the impression produced by Prince Andréy’s face linked itself up with Kutúzov’s remembrance of his personality.
“Ah, how do you do, my dear prince? How do you do, my dear boy? Come along …” said he, glancing wearily round, and he stepped onto the porch which creaked under his weight.
He unbuttoned his coat and sat down on a bench in the porch.
“And how’s your father?”
“I received news of his death, yesterday,” replied Prince Andréy abruptly.
Kutúzov looked at him with eyes wide open with dismay and then took off his cap and crossed himself: