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‘Nice little purse, isn’t it? Yes, yes,’ he said, suddenly turning white. ‘Do have a look at it, young man,’ he added.

Rostov took hold of the purse and examined it, also checking the money inside, and he stared at Telyanin. The lieutenant let his eyes wander around everywhere, as he always did, and suddenly he seemed remarkably cheerful.

‘If we get to Vienna, I suppose I shall leave it all there, but just now there’s nothing to buy in these ghastly little places,’ he said. ‘So, let me have it back, young man, and I’ll be on my way.’

Rostov said nothing.

‘What are you going to do, then? Are you lunching too? They do a decent meal,’ Telyanin went on. ‘Please could I have it back?’

He put out his hand and took hold of the purse. Rostov let go of it. Telyanin took the purse and casually began to slide it back into his breeches pocket, with his eyebrows still raised and his mouth half-open, as if to say, ‘Yes, yes, I’m putting my purse in my pocket, that’s all there is to it, and it’s nobody’s business but mine.’

‘Well, young man?’ he said with a sigh, staring out from under those raised eyebrows for once straight into Rostov’s eyes. A strange glint surged like a charge of electricity from Telyanin’s eyes to Rostov’s and back again, to and fro in a split second.

‘Come over here,’ said Rostov, grabbing Telyanin by the arm and almost dragging him to the window. ‘That money is Denisov’s. You took it . . .’ he whispered in his ear.

‘You what? . . . What? . . . How dare you? What do you mean? . . .’ said Telyanin. But the words sounded pathetic, almost desperate, a plea for forgiveness. The moment Rostov heard that tone of voice, a great boulder of doubt seemed to fall from him and roll away. He felt a thrill of delight, mixed immediately with some pity for the miserable creature standing before him, but this was something that had to be taken all the way.

‘God knows what these people might think,’ Telyanin was muttering. He snatched up his cap and went over to a small empty room. ‘We need to talk . . .’

‘Yes, I know we do. I can prove it,’ said Rostov.

‘I . . .’

Telyanin’s terrified face, drained of all colour, now twitched in every muscle, and his eyes darted about everywhere, but only downwards, never coming to the level of Rostov’s face. His sobs were pitiful to hear.

‘Count! . . . please don’t ruin me . . . I’m only young . . . here’s the wretched money, take it! . . .’ He threw it down on the table. ‘My mother . . . my father’s an old man . . .’

Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin’s eyes, and left the room without a word. But he stopped in the doorway and looked back.

‘My God!’ he said, with tears in his eyes, ‘how could you have done that?’

‘Count . . .’ said Telyanin, coming nearer.

‘Don’t you touch me,’ said Rostov, backing away. ‘If you’re so badly off, keep the money.’

He flung the purse at him and ran out of the inn.

CHAPTER 5

That same evening in Denisov’s quarters a heated discussion was taking place among some of the squadron officers.

‘But I’m telling you, Rostov, that you’re going to have to apologize to the colonel.’ The words came from a staff captain, a tall man with greying hair, a vast spread of whiskers, bold features and a deeply furrowed face. Rostov was bright red with excitement. Kirsten, the staff captain in question, had been reduced to the ranks twice for affairs of honour, both times regaining his commission.

‘I won’t let anybody call me a liar!’ cried Rostov. ‘He said I was lying and I said he was. And that’s it. He can put me on extra duty every day of the week, he can put me under arrest but no one’s going to make me apologize, because if he thinks that being our colonel means it’s beneath his dignity to give me satisfaction, then . . .’

‘Hang on, old fellow, you just listen to me,’ put in the staff captain in his deep bass voice, calmly smoothing his long whiskers. ‘You tell the CO with officers present that another officer has been stealing . . .’

‘Well, it’s not my fault there were other officers around when I spoke. Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken while they were there, but I’m no diplomat. That’s why I joined the hussars. I didn’t think there would be any hair-splitting here. So when he calls me a liar . . . let him give me satisfaction.’

‘That’s all very well, but nobody thinks you’re a coward. That’s not the point. Denisov will tell you whether it’s even remotely possible for a cadet to challenge his CO.’

Denisov was biting his moustache and looking rather grim as he listened to the conversation, evidently not wanting to be drawn into it. He shook his head in response to the captain’s question.

‘So there you are in the presence of other officers sounding off to the CO about this nasty business,’ the staff captain persisted. ‘Bogdanych’ (the colonel) ‘brings you into line . . .’

‘That’s not what he did. He said I wasn’t telling the truth.’

‘Yes, and you said some stupid things, for which you must now apologize.’

‘Not on your life!’ shouted Rostov.