“I shall probably die before you. So remember, these are my memoirs; hand them to the Emperor after my death. Now here is a Lombard bond and a letter; it is a premium for the man who writes a history of Suvórov’s wars. Send it to the Academy. Here are some jottings for you to read when I am gone. You will find them useful.”

Andréy did not tell his father that he would no doubt live a long time yet. He felt that he must not say it.

“I will do it all, Father,” he said.

“Well, now, goodbye!” He gave his son his hand to kiss, and embraced him. “Remember this, Prince Andréy, if they kill you it will hurt me, your old father⁠ ⁠…” he paused unexpectedly, and then in a querulous voice suddenly shrieked: “but if I hear that you have not behaved like a son of Nikoláy Bolkónski, I shall be ashamed!”

“You need not have said that to me, Father,” said the son with a smile.

The old man was silent.