with curiosity, he entered the porch of the Emperor’s
A broad staircase led straight up from the entry, and to the right he saw a closed door.
Below, under the staircase, was a door leading to the lower floor.
“Whom do you want?” someone inquired.
“To hand in a letter, a petition, to His Majesty,” said Nikoláy, with a tremor in his voice.
“A petition? This way, to the officer on duty” (he was shown the door leading downstairs), “only it won’t be accepted.”
On hearing this indifferent voice, Rostóv grew frightened at what he was doing; the thought of meeting the Emperor at any moment was so fascinating and consequently so alarming that he was ready to run away, but the official who had questioned him opened the door, and Rostóv entered.
A short stout man of about thirty, in white breeches