Prince Andréy felt that either the actions of Kutúzov’s army interested the Minister of War less than any of the other matters he was concerned with, or he wanted to give the Russian special messenger that impression. “But that is a matter of perfect indifference to me,” he thought. The minister drew the remaining papers together, arranged them evenly, and then raised his head. He had an intellectual and distinctive head, but the instant he turned to Prince Andréy the firm, intelligent expression on his face changed in a way evidently deliberate and habitual to him. His face took on the stupid artificial smile (which does not even attempt to hide its artificiality) of a man who is continually receiving many petitioners one after another.

“From General Field Marshal Kutúzov?” he asked. “I hope it is good news? There has been an encounter with Mortier? A victory? It was high time!”

He took the dispatch which was addressed to him and began to read it with a mournful expression.

“Oh, my God! My God! Schmidt!” he exclaimed in German. “What a calamity! What a calamity!”