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e； Rostov mounted his horse and escorted her as far as the road occupied by our troops； twelve versts from Bogutcharovo。 At the inn at Yankovo he parted from her respectfully； for the first time permitting himself to kiss her hand。
“How can you speak of it！” he said； blushing in response to Princess Marya’s expression of gratitude to him for saving her； as she called it。 “Any police officer would have done as much。 If we only had to wage war with peasants； we would not have let the enemy advance so far；” he said； trying with a sort of bashfulness to change the conversation。 “I am only happy to have had the opportunity of making your acquaintance。 Good…bye； princess。 I trust you may find happiness and consolation； and I hope I may meet you again in happier circumstances。 If you don’t want to make me blush； please don’t thank me。”
But if the princess thanked him no more in words； she thanked him with the whole expression of her face； which was radiant with gratitude and warmth。 She could not believe that she had no cause to thank him。 On the contrary； to her mind it was an incontestable fact that had it not been for him； she must inevitably have fallen a victim to the rebellious peasants or the French； that he； to save her； had exposed himself to obvious and fearful danger； and even more certain was the fact that he was a man of noble and lofty soul； able to sympathise with her position and her grief。 His kindly and honest eyes； with tears starting to them at the moment when weeping herself she had spoken of her loss； haunted her imagination。 When she had said good…bye to him and was left alone； Princess Marya suddenly felt tears in her eyes； and then—not for the first time—the question occurred to her： “Was she in love with him？” On the rest of the way to Moscow； though the princess’s position was by no means a joyful one； Dunyasha； who was in the carriage with her； noticed that her mistress’s face wore a vaguely happy and pensive smile； as she looked out of the window。
“Well； what if I have fallen in love with him？” Though she was ashamed at acknowledging to herself that she had fallen in love with a man who would perhaps never care for her； she comforted herself with the reflection that no one would ever know it； and she was not to blame； if she loved in secret for the first and last time and for her whole life long。
Sometimes she recalled his looks； his sympathy； his words； and happiness seemed to her not quite impossible。 And then it was that Dunyasha noticed that she looked out of the window smiling。
“And to think that he should come to Bogutcharovo and at that very moment！” thought Princess Marya。 “And that his sister should have refused Andrey！” And in all that； Princess Marya saw the hand of Providence。
The impression made on Rostov by Princess Marya was a very agreeable one。 When he thought of her； he felt pleased。 And when his comrades； hearing of his adventure at Bogutcharovo； rallied him on having gone to look for hay； and having picked up one of the greatest heiresses in Russia； it made him angry。 He was angry just because the idea of marrying the gentle； and； to his mind； charming Princess Marya with her enormous fortune had more than once； against his own will； occurred to his mind。 As far as he personally was concerned； Nikolay could have asked nothing better than to have Princess Marya for his wife。 To marry her would make the countess； his mother； happy； and would repair his father’s broken fortunes。 And it would even—Nikolay felt it—make the happiness of the princess herself。
But Sonya？ And his promise？ And that was why it made Rostov angry to be rallied about the Princess Bolkonsky。
Chapter 15
ON RECEIVING THE CHIEF COMMAND of the army； Kutuzov remembered Prince Andrey and sent him a summons to headquarters。
Prince Andrey reached Tsarevo…Zaimishtche on the very day and at the very hour when Kutuzov was making his first inspection of the troops。 Prince Andrey stopped in the village at the house of the priest； where the commander…in…chief’s carriage was standing； and sat down on a bench at the gate to await his highness； as every one now called Kutuzov。 From the plain beyond the village came the sounds of regimental music； and the roar of a vast multitude； shouting “Hurrah！” to the new commander…in…chief。 At the gate； some ten paces from Prince Andrey； stood two orderlies； a courier； and a butler； taking advantage of their master’s absence to enjoy the fine weather。 A swarthy； little lieutenant…colonel of hussars； his face covered with bushy moustaches and whiskers； rode up to the gate； and glancing at Prince Andrey asked whether his highness were putting up here and whether he would soon be back。
Prince Andrey told him that he did not belong to his highness’s staff； but had only just arrived。 The lieutenant…colonel of hussars turned to the smart orderly； and the orderly told him with the peculiar scornfulness with which a commander…in…chief’s orderlies do speak to officers：
“His highness？ We expect him back immediately。 What is your business？”
The officer grinned in his moustaches at the orderly’s tone； dismounted； gave his horse to a servant； and went up to Bolkonsky with a slight bow。
Bolkonsky made room for him on the bench。 The hussar sat down beside him。
“You； too； waiting for the commander…in…chief？” he began。 “They say he is willing to see any one； thank God！ It was a very different matter with the sausage…makers！ Yermolov might well ask to be promoted a German。 Now； I dare say； Russians may dare to speak again。 And devil knows what they have been about。 Nothing but retreating and retreating。 Have you been in the field？” he asked。
“I have had the pleasure；” said Prince Andrey； “not only of taking part in the retreat； but also of losing everything I valued in the retreat—not to speak of my property and the home of my birth … my father； who died of grief。 I am a Smolensk man。”
“Ah！ … Are you Prince Bolkonsky？ Very glad to make your acquaintance。 Lieutenant…colonel Denisov； better known by the name of Vaska；” said Denisov； pressing Prince Andrey’s hand and looking into his face with a particularly kindly expression。 “Yes； I had heard about it；” he said sympathetically； and after a brief pause he added： “Yes； this is Scythian warfare。 It’s all right； but not for those who have to pay the piper。 So you are Prince Andrey Bolkonsky？” He shook his head。 “I am very glad； prince； very glad to make your acquaintance；” he added； pressing his hand again with a melancholy smile。
Prince Andrey knew of Denisov from Natasha’s stories of her first suitor。 The recollection of them—both sweet and bitter—carried him back to the heart…sickness of which he had of late never thought； though it still lay buried within him。 Of late so many different and grave matters； such as the abandonment of Smolensk； his visit to Bleak Hills； the recent news of his father’s death—so many emotions had filled his heart that those memories had long been absent； and when they returned did not affect him nearly so violently。 And for Denisov； the associations awakened by the name of Bolkonsky belonged to a far…away； romantic past； when； after supper and Natasha’s singin