Kochubéy said a few words about the reception Arakchéev had given Bolkónski. Speránski smiled more markedly.
“The chairman of the Committee on Army Regulations is my good friend Monsieur Magnítski,” he said, fully articulating every word and syllable, “and if you like I can put you in touch with him.” He paused at the full stop. “I hope you will find him sympathetic and ready to cooperate in promoting all that is reasonable.”
A circle soon formed round Speránski, and the old man who had talked about his subordinate Pryánichnikov addressed a question to him.
Prince Andréy without joining in the conversation watched every movement of Speránski’s: this man, not long since an insignificant divinity student, who now, Bolkónski thought, held in his hands—those plump white hands—the fate of Russia. Prince Andréy was struck by the extraordinarily disdainful composure with which Speránski answered the old man. He appeared to address condescending words to him from an immeasurable height. When the old man began to speak too loud, Speránski smiled and said he could not judge