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 of the advantage or disadvantage of what pleased the sovereign.
Having talked for a little while in the general circle, Speránski rose and coming up to Prince Andréy took him along to the other end of the room. It was clear that he thought it necessary to interest himself in Bolkónski.
“I had no chance to talk with you, Prince, during the animated conversation in which that venerable gentleman involved me,” he said with a mildly contemptuous smile, as if intimating by that smile that he and Prince Andréy understood the insignificance of the people with whom he had just been talking. This flattered Prince Andréy. “I have known of you for a long time: first from your action with regard to your serfs, a first example, of which it