The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince Hippolyte
laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting for the vicomte
whom he had promised to take home.

"Well, mon cher," said the vicomte, having seated himself beside
Hippolyte in the carriage, "your little princess is very nice, very
nice indeed, quite French," and he kissed the tips of his fingers.
Hippolyte burst out laughing.

"Do you know, you are a terrible chap for all your innocent airs,"
continued the vicomte. "I pity the poor husband, that little officer
who gives himself the airs of a monarch."

Hippolyte spluttered again, and amid his laughter said, "And you
were saying that the Russian ladies are not equal to the French? One
has to know how to deal with them."


Pierre reaching the house first went into Prince Andrew's study like
one quite at home, and from habit immediately lay down on the sofa,
took from the shelf the first book that came to his hand (it was
Caesar's Commentaries), and resting on his elbow, began reading it
in the middle.

"What have you done to Mlle Scherer? She will be quite ill now,"
said Prince Andrew, as he entered the study, rubbing his small white
hands.

Pierre turned his whole body, making the sofa creak. He lifted his
eager face to Prince Andrew, smiled, and waved his hand.