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count had been a member of the club； and was its steward。 He had been entrusted with the organisation of the banquet to Bagration by the club； because it would have been hard to find any one so well able to organise a banquet on a large and hospitable scale； and still more hard to find any one so able and willing to advance his own money； if funds were needed； for the organisation of the fête。 The cook and the club manager listened to the count’s orders with good…humoured faces； because they knew that with no one better than with him could one make a handsome profit out of a dinner costing several thousands。
“Well； then； mind there are scallops； scallops in pie…crust； you know。”
“Cold entrées； I suppose—three？ …” questioned the cook。
The count pondered。
“Couldn’t do with less； three … mayonnaise； one；” he said； crooking his finger。
“Then it’s your excellency’s order to take the big sturgeons？” asked the manager。
“Yes； it can’t be helped； we must take them； if they won’t knock the price down。 Ah； mercy on us； I was forgetting。 Of course we must have another entrée on the table。 Ah； good heavens！” he clutched at his head。 “And who’s going to get me the flowers？ Mitenka！ Hey； Mitenka！ You gallop； Mitenka；” he said to the steward who came in at his call； “you gallop off to the Podmoskovny estate” （the count’s property in the environs of Moscow）； “and tell Maksimka the gardener to set the serfs to work to get decorations from the greenhouses。 Tell him everything from his conservatories is to be brought here； and is to be packed in felt。 And that I’m to have two hundred pots here by Friday。”
After giving further and yet further directions of all sorts； he was just going off to the countess to rest from his labours； but he recollected something else； turned back himself； brought the cook and manager back； and began giving orders again。 They heard in the doorway a light； manly tread and a jingling of spurs； and the young count came in； handsome and rosy； with his darkening moustache； visibly sleeker and in better trim for his easy life in Moscow。
“Ah； my boy！ my head’s in a whirl；” said the old gentleman； with a somewhat shamefaced smile at his son。 “You might come to my aid！ We have still the singers to get； you see。 The music is all settled； but shouldn’t we order some gypsy singers？ You military gentlemen are fond of that sort of thing。”
“Upon my word； papa； I do believe that Prince Bagration made less fuss over getting ready for the battle of Sch？ngraben than you are making now；” said his son； smiling。
The old count pretended to be angry。
“Well； you talk； you try！” And the count turned to the cook； who with a shrewd and respectful face looked observantly and sympathetically from father to son。
“What are the young people coming to； eh； Feoktista？” said he； “they laugh at us old fellows！”
“To be sure； your excellency； all they have to do is to eat a good dinner； but to arrange it all and serve it up； that’s no affair of theirs！”
“True； true！” cried the count； and gaily seizing his son by both hands； he cried： “Do you know now I’ve got hold of you！ Take a sledge and pair this minute and drive off to Bezuhov； and say that Count Ilya Andreivitch has sent； say； to ask him for strawberries and fresh pineapples。 There’s no getting them from any one else。 If he’s not at home himself； you go in and give the message to the princesses； and； I say； from there you drive off to the Gaiety—Ipatka the coachman knows the place—and look up Ilyushka there； the gypsy who danced at Count Orlov’s； do you remember； in a white Cossack dress； and bring him here to me。”
“And bring his gypsy girls here with him？” asked Nikolay； laughing。
“Come； come！ …”
At this moment Anna Mihalovna stepped noiselessly into the room with that air of Christian meekness； mingled with practical and anxious preoccupation； that never left her face。 Although Anna Mihalovna came upon the count in his dressing…gown every day； he was invariably disconcerted at her doing so； and apologised for his costume。
“Don’t mention it； my dear count；” she said； closing her eyes meekly。 “I am just going to see Bezuhov；” she said。 “Young Bezuhov has arrived； and now we shall get all we want； count； from his greenhouses。 I was wanting to see him on my own account； too。 He has forwarded me a letter from Boris。 Thank God； Boris is now on the staff。”
The count was overjoyed at Anna Mihalovna’s undertaking one part of his commissions； and gave orders for the carriage to be brought round for her。
“Tell Bezuhov to come。 I’ll put his name down。 Brought his wife with him？” he asked。
Anna Mihalovna turned up her eyes； and an expression of profound sadness came into her face。
“Ah； my dear； he’s very unhappy；” she said。 “If it’s true what we have been hearing； it’s awful。 How little did we think of this when we were rejoicing in happiness！ and such a lofty； angelic nature； that young Bezuhov！ Yes； I pity him from my soul； and will do my utmost to give him any consolation in my power。”
“Why； what is the matter？” inquired both the Rostovs； young and old together。
Anna Mihalovna heaved a deep sigh。
“Dolohov； Marya Ivanovna’s son；” she said in a mysterious whisper； “has； they say； utterly compromised her。 He brought him forward； invited him to his house in Petersburg； and now this！ … She has come here； and that scapegrace has come after her；” said Anna Mihalovna。 She wished to express nothing but sympathy with Pierre； but in her involuntary intonations and half smile； she betrayed her sympathy with the scapegrace； as she called Dolohov。 “Pierre himself； they say； is utterly crushed by his trouble。”
“Well； any way； tell him to come to the club—it will divert his mind。 It will be a banquet on a grand scale。”
On the next day； the 3rd of March； at about two in the afternoon； the two hundred and fifty members of the English Club and fifty of their guests were awaiting the arrival of their honoured guest； the hero of the Austrian campaign； Prince Bagration。
On receiving the news of the defeat of Austerlitz； all Moscow had at first been thrown into bewilderment。 At that period the Russians were so used to victories； that on receiving news of a defeat； some people were simply incredulous； while others sought an explanation of so strange an event in exceptional circumstances of some kind。 At the English Club； where every one of note； every one who had authentic information and weight gathered together； during December； when the news began to arrive； not a word was said about the war and about the last defeat； it was as though all were in a conspiracy of silence。 The men who took the lead in conversation at the club； such as Count Rostoptchin； Prince Yury Vladimirovitch Dolgoruky； Valuev； Count Markov； and Prince Vyazemsky； did not put in an appearance at the club； but met together in their intimate circles at each other’s houses。
That section of Moscow society which took its opinions from others （to which； indeed； Count Ilya Andreivitch Rostov belonged） remained for a short time without leaders and without definite views upon the progress of the war。 People felt in Moscow that something was wrong； and t