“Let me look at the purse,” he said in a low voice, scarcely audible.

With shifting eyes, but eyebrows still raised, Telyanin gave him the purse.

“Yes, it’s a pretty purse … yes …” he said, and suddenly he turned white. “You can look at it, young man,” he added.

Rostov took the purse in his hand and looked both at it and at the money in it, and also at Telyanin. The lieutenant looked about him, as his way was, and seemed suddenly to have grown very good-humoured.

“If we go to Vienna, I suspect I shall leave it all there, but now there’s nowhere to spend our money in these wretched little places,” he said. “Come, give it me, young man; I’m going.”

Rostov did not speak.

“What are you going to do? have lunch too? They give you decent food,” Telyanin went on. “Give it me.” He put out his hand and took. hold of the purse. Rostov let go of it. Telyanin took the purse and began carelessly dropping it into the pocket of his riding trousers, while his eyebrows were carelessly lifted and his mouth stood a little open, as though he would say: “Yes, yes, I’m putting my purse in my pocket, and that’s a very simple matter, and no one has anything to do with it.”

“Well, young man?” he said with a sign, and from under his lifted eyebrows he glanced into Rostov’s eyes. A kind of gleam passed with the swiftness of an electric flash from Telyanin’s eyes to the eyes of Rostov, and back again and back again and again, all in one instant.

“Come here,” said Rostov, taking Telyanin by the arm. He almost dragged him to the window. “That’s Denisov’s money; you took it …” he whispered in his ear.

“What? … what? … How dare you? What?” … said Telyanin. But the words sounded like a plaintive, despairing cry and prayer for forgiveness. As soon as Rostov heard the sound of his voice, a great weight of suspense, like a stone, rolled off his heart. He felt glad, and at the same instant he pitied the luckless creature standing before him, but he had to carry the thing through to the end.

“God knows what the people here may think,” muttered Telyanin, snatching up his forage-cap and turning towards a small empty room. “You must explain …”

“I know that, and I’ll prove it,” said Rostov.

“I …”

The terrified, white face of Telyanin began twitching in every muscle; his eyes still moved uneasily, but on the ground, never rising to the level of Rostov’s face, and tearful sobs could be heard.

“Count! … don’t ruin a young man … here is the wretched money, take it.” … He threw it on the table. “I’ve an old father and mother!”

Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin’s eyes, and without uttering a word, he went out of the room. But in the doorway he stopped and turned back.

“My God!” he said, with tears in his eyes, “how could you do it?”

“Count,” said Telyanin, coming nearer to the ensign.

“Don’t touch me,” said Rostov, drawing back. “If you’re in need take the money.”

He thrust a purse on him and ran out of the restaurant.


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