On reaching the village, he got off his horse, and went into the first house with the intention of resting for a moment at least, eating something, and getting all the mortifying impressions that were torturing him into some clear shape. “This is a mob of scoundrels, not an army,” he thought, going up to the window of the first house, when a familiar voice called him by his name.
He looked round. Out of a little window was thrust the handsome face of Nesvitsky. Nesvitsky, munching something in his moist mouth and beckoning to him, called him in.
“Bolkonsky！ Bolkonsky！ Don’t you hear, eh？ Make haste,” he shouted.
Going into the house, Prince Andrey found Nesvitsky and another adjutant having a meal. They hastily turned to Bolkonsky with the inquiry, had he any news？ On their familiar faces Prince Andrey read alarm and uneasiness. That expression was particularly noticeable in Nesvitsky’s face, usually so full of laughter.
“Where is the commander-in-chief？” asked Bolkonsky.
“Here in this house,” answered the adjutant.
“Well, is it true, about the peace and capitulation？” asked Nesvitsky.
“I ask you. I know nothing except that I have had great difficulty in getting through to you.”
“And the things that have been going on, my boy！ Awful！ I was wrong to laugh at Mack; there’s worse in store for us,” said Nesvitsky. “But sit down, have something to eat.”
“You won’t find your baggage or anything now, prince, and God knows what’s become of your Pyotr,” said the other adjutant.
“Where are the headquarters？”
“We shall spend the night in Znaim.”
“Well, I got everything I wanted packed up on two horses,” said Nesvitsky; “and capital packs they made for me, fit to scamper as far as the Bohemian mountains at least. Things are in a bad way, my boy. But, I say, you must be ill, shivering like that？” Nesvitsky queried, noticing how Prince Andrey shuddered, as though in contact with a galvanic battery.
“No; I’m all right,” answered Prince Andrey. He had recalled at that instant the incident with the doctor’s wife and the transport officer.
“What is the commander-in-chief doing here？” he asked.
“I can’t make out anything,” said Nesvitsky.
“I know one thing, that it’s all loathsome, loathsome, loathsome,” said Prince Andrey, and he went into the house where the commander-in-chief was stopping.
Passing by Kutuzov’s carriage, the exhausted saddle-horses of his suite, and the Cossacks talking loudly together, Prince Andrey went into the outer room. Kutuzov himself was, as Prince Andrey had been told, in the inner room of the hut with Prince Bagration and Weierother. The latter was the Austrian general, who had taken Schmidt’s place. In the outer room little Kozlovsky was squatting on his heels in front of a copying-clerk. The latter was sitting on a tub turned upside down, he was writing rapidly with the cuffs of his uniform tucked up. Kozlovsky’s face was careworn; he too looked as if he had not slept all night. He glanced at Prince Andrey, and did not even nod to him.
“The second line.… Ready？” he went on, dictating to the clerk： “the Kiev Grenadiers, the Podolsky …”
