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impression on Alexander； he rode up and saluted him。
The unpleasant impression； like the traces of fog in a clear sky； merely flitted across the young and happy face of the Emperor and vanished。 He looked that day rather thinner after his illness than he had been at the review of Olmütz； where Bolkonsky had seen him for the first time abroad。 But there was the same bewitching combination of majesty and mildness in his fine； grey eyes； and on his delicate lips the same possibility of varying expressions and the predominant expression of noble…hearted； guileless youth。
At the Olmütz review he had been more majestic； here he was livelier and more energetic。 He was flushed a little from the rapid three…verst gallop； and as he pulled up his horse； he breathed a sigh of relief； and looked round at those among the faces of his suite that were as young and eager as his own。 Behind the Tsar were Tchartorizhsky； and Novosiltsov； and Prince Bolkonsky； and Stroganov； and the rest； all richly dressed； gay young men on splendid； well…groomed； fresh horses； slightly heated from the gallop。 The Emperor Francis； a rosy； long…faced young man； sat excessively erect on his handsome sable horse； casting deliberate and anxious looks around him。 He beckoned one of his white adjutants and asked him a question。 “Most likely at what o’clock they started；” thought Prince Andrey； watching his old acquaintance with a smile； which he could not repress； as he remembered his audience with him。 With the Emperors’ suite were a certain number of fashionable young aristocrats—Russians and Austrians selected from the regiments of the guards and the line。 Among them were postillions leading extra horses； beautiful beasts from the Tsar’s stables； covered with embroidered horsecloths。
Like a breath of fresh country air rushing into a stuffy room through an open window was the youth； energy； and confidence of success that the cavalcade of brilliant young people brought with them into Kutuzov’s cheerless staff。
“Why aren’t you beginning； Mihail Larionovitch？” the Emperor Alexander said hurriedly； addressing Kutuzov； while he glanced courteously towards the Emperor Francis。
“I am waiting to see； your majesty；” Kutuzov answered； bowing reverentially。
The Emperor turned his ear towards him； with a slight frown and an air of not having caught his words。
“I’m waiting to see； your majesty；” repeated Kutuzov （Prince Andrey noticed that Kutuzov’s upper lip quivered unnaturally as he uttered that： “I’m waiting”）。 “Not all the columns are massed yet； your majesty。”
The Tsar heard him； but the answer apparently did not please him； he shrugged his sloping shoulders； and glanced at Novosiltsov； who stood near； with a look that seemed to complain of Kutuzov。
“We are not on the Tsaritsin field； you know； Mihail Larionovitch； where the parade is not begun till all the regiments are ready；” said the Tsar； glancing again at the Emperor Francis as though inviting him； if not to take part； at least to listen to what he was saying。 But the Emperor Francis still gazed away and did not listen。
“That’s just why I’m not beginning； sire；” said Kutuzov in a resounding voice； as though foreseeing a possibility his words might be ignored； and once more there was a quiver in his face。 “That’s why I am not beginning； sire； because we are not on parade and not on the Tsaritsin field；” he articulated clearly and distinctly。
All in the Tsar’s suite exchanged instantaneous glances with one another； and every face wore an expression of regret and reproach。 “However old he may be； he ought not； he ought never to speak like that；” the faces expressed。
The Tsar looked steadily and attentively into Kutuzov’s face； waiting to see if he were not going to say more。 But Kutuzov too on his side； bending his head respectfully； seemed to be waiting。 The silence lasted about a minute。
“However； if it’s your majesty’s command；” said Kutuzov； lifting his head and relapsing into his former affectation of the tone of a stupid； uncritical general； who obeys orders。 He moved away； and beckoning the commanding officer of the column； Miloradovitch； gave him the command to advance。
The troops began to move again； and two battalions of the Novgorod regiment and a battalion of the Apsheron regiment passed before the Tsar。
While the Apsheron battalion was marching by； Miloradovitch； a red…faced man； wearing a uniform and orders； with no overcoat； and a turned…up hat with huge plumes stuck on one side； galloped ahead of them； and saluting in gallant style； reined up his horse before the Tsar。
“With God’s aid； general；” said the Tsar。
“Ma foi； sire； we will do whatever is in our power to do；” he answered gaily； arousing none the less an ironical smile among the gentlemen of the Tsar’s suite by his bad French accent。 Miloradovitch wheeled his horse round sharply； and halted a few steps behind the Tsar。 The Apsheron men； roused by the presence of the Tsar； stepped out gallantly as they marched by the Emperors and their suites。
“Lads！” shouted Miloradovitch in his loud； self…confident； and cheery voice。 He was apparently so excited by the sounds of the firing； the anticipation of battle； and the sight of the gallant Apsheron men； his old comrades with Suvorov； that he forgot the Tsar’s presence。 “Lads！ it’s not the first village you’ve had to take！” he shouted。
“Glad to do our best；” roared the soldiers。 The Tsar’s horse reared at the unexpected sound。 This horse； who had carried the Tsar at reviews in Russia； bore his rider here on the field of Austerlitz； patiently enduring the heedless blows of his left foot； and pricked up his ears at the sound of shots as he had done on the review ground with no comprehension of the significance of these sounds； nor of the nearness of the raven horse of Emperor Francis； nor of all that was said and thought and felt that day by the man who rode upon his back。
The Tsar turned with a smile to one of his courtiers； pointing to the gallant…looking Apsheron regiment； and said something to him。
Chapter 16
KUTUZOV； accompanied by his adjutants； followed the carabineers at a walking pace。
After going on for half a mile at the tail of the column； he stopped at a solitary； deserted house （probably once an inn）； near the branching of two roads。 Both roads led downhill； and troops were marching along both。
The fog was beginning to part； and a mile and a half away the enemy’s troops could be indistinctly seen on the opposite heights。 On the left below； the firing became more distinct。 Kutuzov stood still in conversation with an Austrian general。 Prince Andrey standing a little behind watched them intently； and turned to an adjutant； meaning to ask him for a field…glass。
“Look； look！” this adjutant said； looking not at the troops in the distance； but down the hill before him。 “It’s the French！”
The two generals and the adjutant began snatching at the field…glass； pulling it from one another。 All their faces suddenly changed； and horror was apparent in them all。 They had supposed the French to be over a mile and a half away； and here they were all of a sudden confronting us。
“Is it the enemy？ … No。 … But； look； it is