“Do you want a sniff of powder?” he said to Pierre. “Yes; a pleasant smell. I have the honour to be one of your wife’s worshippers; is she quite well? My quarters are at your service.” And Kutuzov began, as old people often do, gazing abstractedly about him, as though forgetting all he had to say or do. Apparently recollecting the object of his search, he beckoned to Andrey Sergeitch Kaisarov, the brother of his adjutant.

“How was it, how do they go, those verses of Marin? How do they go? What he wrote on Gerakov: ‘You will be teacher in the corps …’ Tell me, tell me,” said Kutuzov, his countenance relaxing in readiness for a laugh. Kaisarov repeated the lines … Kutuzov, smiling, nodded his head to the rhythm of the verse.

When Pierre moved away from Kutuzov, Dolohov approached and took his hand

“I am very glad to meet you here, count,” he said, aloud, disregarding the presence of outsiders, and speaking with a marked determination and gravity. “On the eve of a day which God knows who among us will be destined to survive I am glad to have the chance of telling you that I regret the misunderstandings there have been between us in the past; and I should be glad to think you had nothing against me. I beg you to forgive me.”

Pierre looked with a smile at Dolohov, not knowing what to say to him. With tears starting into his eyes, Dolohov embraced and kissed Pierre.

Boris had said a few words to his general, and Count Bennigsen addressed Pierre, proposing that he should accompany them along the line.

“You will find it interesting,” he said.

“Yes, very interesting,” said Pierre.

Half an hour later Kutuzov was on his way back to Tatarinovo, while Bennigsen and his suite, with Pierre among them, were inspecting the position.