front had the power to annihilate him, a lieutenant of the Guards. Prince Andréy came up to him and took his hand.
“I am very sorry you did not find me in yesterday. I was fussing about with Germans all day. We went with Weyrother to survey the dispositions. When Germans start being accurate, there’s no end to it!”
Borís smiled, as if he understood what Prince Andréy was alluding to as something generally known. But it was the first time he had heard Weyrother’s name, or even the term “dispositions.”
“Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to be an adjutant? I have been thinking about you.”
“Yes, I was thinking”—for some reason Borís could not help blushing—“of asking the commander in chief. He has had a letter from Prince Kurágin about me. I only wanted to ask because I fear the Guards won’t be in action,” he added as if in apology.
“All right, all right. We’ll talk it over,” replied Prince Andréy. “Only let me report this gentleman’s business, and I shall be at your disposal.”
While Prince Andréy went to report about the purple-faced general, that gentleman—evidently not sharing Borís’ conception of the advantages of the unwritten code of subordination—looked so fixedly at the presumptuous lieutenant who had prevented his finishing what he had to say to the adjutant that Borís felt uncomfortable. He turned away and waited impatiently for Prince Andréy’s return from the commander in chief’s room.
“You see, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you,” said Prince Andréy when they had gone into the large room where the clavichord was. “It’s no use your going to the commander in chief. He would say a lot of pleasant