The general in command was afraid that he might be to blame for this, and made no answer. The officer of hussars at that instant noticed the face of the captain with the red nose, and the rigidly drawn-in stomach, and mimicked his face and attitude in such a life-like manner that Nesvitsky could not restrain his laughter. Kutuzov turned round. The officer could apparently do anything he liked with his face; at the instant Kutuzov turned round, the officer had time to get in a grimace before assuming the most serious, respectful, and innocent expression.
The third company was the last, and Kutuzov seemed pondering, as though trying to recall something. Prince Andrey stepped forward and said softly in French： “You told me to remind you of the degraded officer, Dolohov, serving in the ranks in this regiment.”
“Where is Dolohov？” asked Kutuzov.
Dolohov, attired by now in the grey overcoat of a private soldier, did not wait to be called up. The slender figure of the fair-haired soldier, with his bright blue eyes, stepped out of the line. He went up to the commander-in-chief and presented arms.
“A complaint to make？” Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.
“This is Dolohov,” said Prince Andrey.
“Ah！” said Kutuzov. “I hope this will be a lesson to you, do your duty thoroughly. The Emperor is gracious. And I shall not forget you, if you deserve it.”
The bright blue eyes looked at the commander-in-chief just as impudently as at the general of his regiment, as though by his expression tearing down the veil of convention that removed the commander-in-chief so far from the soldier.
“The only favour I beg of your most high excellency,” he said in his firm, ringing, deliberate voice, “is to give me a chance to atone for my offence, and to prove my devotion to his majesty the Emperor, and to Russia.”
Kutuzov turned away. There was a gleam in his eyes of the same smile with which he had turned away from Captain Timohin. He turned away and frowned, as though to express that all Dolohov had said to him and all he could say, he had known long, long ago, that he was sick to death long ago of it, and that it was not at all what was wanted. He turned away and went towards the coach.
The regiment broke into companies and went towards the quarters assigned them at no great distance from Braunau, where they hoped to find boots and clothes, and to rest after their hard marches.
“You won’t bear me a grudge, Proho Ignatitch？” said the commanding general, overtaking the third company and riding up to Captain Timohin, who was walking in front of it. The general’s face beamed with a delight he could not suppress after the successful inspection. “It’s in the Tsar’s service … can’t be helped … sometimes one has to be a little sharp at inspection. I’m the first to apologise; you know me.… He was very much pleased.” And he held out his hand to the captain.
“Upon my word, general, as if I’d make so bold,” answered the captain, his nose flushing redder. He smiled, and his smile revealed the loss of two front teeth, knocked out by the butt-end of a gun at Ismail.
“And tell Dolohov that I won’t forget him; he can be easy about that. And tell me, please, what about him, how’s he behaving himself … I’ve been meaning to inquire…”
“He’s very exact in the discharge of his duties, your excellency … but he’s a character …” said Timohin.
“Why, what sort of a character？” asked the general.
“It’s different on different days, your excellency,” said the captain; “at one time he’s sensible and well-educated and good-natured. And then he’ll be like a wild beast. In Poland, he all but killed a Jew, if you please.…”
“Well, well,” said the general, “still one must feel for a young man in trouble. He has great connections, you know.… So you …”
“Oh, yes, your excellency,” said Timohin, with a smile that showed he understood his superior officer’s wish in the matter.
“Very well, then, very well.”
The general sought out Dolohov in the ranks and pulled up his horse.
“In the first action you may win your epaulettes,” he said to him.
Dolohov looked round and said nothing. There was no change in the lines of his ironically-smiling mouth.
“Well, that’s all right then,” the general went on. “A glass of brandy to every man from me,” he added, so that the soldiers could hear. “I thank you all. God be praised！” And riding round the company, he galloped off to another.
“Well, he’s really a good fellow, one can get on very well under him,” said Timohin to the subaltern officer walking beside him.
“The king of hearts, that’s the only word for him,” the subaltern said, laughing. （The general was nicknamed the king of hearts.）
The cheerful state of mind of the officers after the inspection was shared by the soldiers. The companies went along merrily. Soldiers’ voices could be heard on all sides chatting away.
“Why, don’t they say Kutuzov’s blind in one eye？”
“To be sure he is. Quite blind of one eye.”
“Nay … lads, he’s more sharp-eyed than you are. See how he looked at our boots and things.” …
“I say, mate, when he looked at my legs … well, thinks I …”
“And the other was an Austrian with him, that looked as if he’d been chalked all over. As white as flour. I bet they rub him up as we rub up our guns.”
