“Listen,” said he. “Don’t worry about your wife; what can be done shall be done. Now, listen; give this letter to Mihail Ilarionovitch. I write that he is to make use of you on good work, and not to keep you long an adjutant; a vile duty！ Tell him I remember him and like him. And write to me how he receives you. If he’s all right, serve him. The son of Nikolay Andreitch Bolkonsky has no need to serve under any man as a favour. Now, come here.”
He spoke so rapidly that he did not finish half of his words, but his son was used to understanding him. He led his son to the bureau, opened it, drew out a drawer, and took out of it a manuscript book filled with his bold, big, compressed handwriting.
“I am sure to die before you. See, here are my notes, to be given to the Emperor after my death. Now here, see, is a bank note and a letter： this is a prize for any one who writes a history of Suvorov’s wars. Send it to the academy. Here are my remarks, read them after I am gone for your own sake; you will find them profitable.”
Andrey did not tell his father that he probably had many years before him. He knew there was no need to say that.
“I will do all that, father,” he said.
“Well, now, good-bye！” He gave his son his hand to kiss and embraced him. “Remember one thing, Prince Andrey, if you are killed, it will be a grief to me in my old age…” He paused abruptly, and all at once in a shrill voice went on： “But if I learn that you have not behaved like the son of Nikolay Bolkonsky, I shall be … ashamed,” he shrilled.
“You needn’t have said that to me, father,” said his son, smiling.
The old man did not speak.
“There’s another thing I wanted to ask you,” went on Prince Andrey; “if I’m killed, and if I have a son, don’t let him slip out of your hands, as I said to you yesterday; let him grow up with you…please.”
“Not give him up to your wife？” said the old man, and he laughed.
They stood mutually facing each other. The old man’s sharp eyes were fixed on his son’s eyes. A quiver passed over the lower part of the old prince’s face.
“We have said good-bye…go along！” he said suddenly. “Go along！” he cried in a loud and wrathful voice, opening the study door.
“What is it, what’s the matter？” asked the two princesses on seeing Prince Andrey, and catching a momentary glimpse of the figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown, wearing his spectacles and no wig, and shouting in a wrathful voice.
Prince Andrey sighed and made no reply.
“Now, then,” he said, turning to his wife, and that “now then” sounded like a cold sneer, as though he had said, “Now, go through your little performance.”
“Andrey？ Already！” said the little princess, turning pale and looking with dismay at her husband. He embraced her. She shrieked and fell swooning on his shoulder.
He cautiously withdrew the shoulder, on which she was lying, glanced into her face and carefully laid her in a low chair.
“Good-bye, Masha,” he said gently-to his sister, and they kissed one another’s hands, then with rapid steps he walked out of the room.
The little princess lay in the arm-chair; Mademoiselle Bourienne rubbed her temples. Princess Marya, supporting her sister-in-law, still gazed with her fine eyes full of tears at the door by which Prince Andrey had gone, and she made the sign of the cross at it. From the study she heard like pistol shots the repeated and angry sounds of the old man blowing his nose. Just after Prince Andrey had gone, the door of the study was flung open, and the stern figure of the old man in his white dressing-gown peeped out.
“Gone？ Well, and a good thing too！” he said, looking furiously at the fainting princess. He shook his head reproachfully and slammed the door.
