Berg drove up to his father-in-law’s house in his spruce little trap with a pair of sleek roans, exactly like those of a certain prince. He looked attentively at the carts in the yard and while going up to the porch took out a clean pocket handkerchief and tied a knot in it.

From the anteroom Berg ran with smooth though impatient steps into the drawing room, where he embraced the count, kissed the hands of Natásha and Sónya, and hastened to inquire after “Mamma’s” health.

“Health, at a time like this?” said the count. “Come, tell us the news! Is the army retreating or will there be another battle?”