Kutúzov laughed bitterly.
“You’ll make a fine thing of it, deploying in sight of the enemy! Very fine!”
“The enemy is still far away, your excellency. According to the dispositions …”
“The dispositions!” exclaimed Kutúzov bitterly. “Who told you that? … Kindly do as you are ordered.”
“Yes, sir.”
“My dear fellow,” Nesvítski whispered to Prince Andréy, “the old man is as surly as a dog.”
An Austrian officer in a white uniform with green plumes in his hat galloped up to Kutúzov and asked in the Emperor’s name had the fourth column advanced into action.
Kutúzov turned round without answering and his eye happened to fall upon Prince Andréy, who was beside him. Seeing him, Kutúzov’s malevolent and caustic expression softened, as if admitting that what was being done was not his adjutant’s fault, and still not answering the Austrian adjutant, he addressed Bolkónski.
“Go, my dear fellow, and see whether the third division has passed the village. Tell it to stop and await my orders.”
Hardly had Prince Andréy started than he stopped him.
“And ask whether sharpshooters have been posted,” he added. “What are they doing? What are they doing?” he murmured to himself, still not replying to the Austrian.
Prince Andréy galloped off to execute the order.