“Ach, I dislike the fellow,” he said, unembarrassed by the sergeant major’s presence.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “So do I, but what to do!” and, having given orders, went back to Telyanin.
Telyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his small white hands.
“There are such repulsive faces in the world,” thought Rostov, going into the room.
“So, did you order the horse brought?” asked Telyanin, getting up and glancing around casually.
“I did.”
“Well, come on then. I only stopped to ask Denisov about yesterday’s orders. Did you receive them, Denisov?”
“Not yet. And where are you going?”
“I want to teach the young man how to shoe a horse.”
They went out to the porch and to the stable. The lieutenant showed him how to do a clinch nail, and went home.
When Rostov came back, there was a bottle of vodka and some sausage on the table. Denisov was sitting at the table scratching on a piece of paper with his quill. He glanced darkly at Rostov’s face.
“I’m writing to her,” he said.
He leaned his elbow on the table, the quill in his hand, and, obviously glad of the chance to quickly speak out everything he wanted to write, began reciting his letter to Rostov.
“You see, friend,” he said, “we’re asleep until we love. We’re children of dust…but fall in love—and you’re God, you’re pure as on the first day of creation…Who’s that now? Send him to the devil. No time!” he shouted to Lavrushka, who came up to him without the slightest timidity.
“Who is it? You gave the order yourself. The sergeant major’s come for money.”
Denisov winced, was about to shout something, but kept silent.
“Rotten business,” he said to himself. “How much money was left in the purse?” he asked Rostov.
“Seven new and three old.”
“Ah, rot! Well, what are you standing there for, scarecrow, off to the sergeant major,” Denisov shouted at Lavrushka.
“Please, Denisov, take money from me, I’ve got it,” Rostov said, blushing.
“I don’t like getting friends involved, no, I don’t,” Denisov muttered.
“If you won’t take money from me as a friend, you’ll offend me. I really have got it,” Rostov repeated.
“No, no, I won’t.”
And Denisov went to the bed to take his purse from under the pillow.
“Where’d you put it, Rostov?”
“Under the bottom pillow.”
“It’s not there.”
Denisov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.
“That’s odd!”
“Wait, maybe you dropped it?” said Rostov, picking up first one pillow, then the other, and shaking them.
He tore off the blanket and shook it. The purse was not there.
“Maybe I forgot? No, I thought then that it was as if you were hiding a treasure under your head,” said Rostov. “I put the purse there. Where is it?” he turned to Lavrushka.
“I didn’t come in. It should be wherever you put it.”
“But it’s not.”
“It’s always that way, you toss something somewhere and then forget. Look in your pockets.”
“No, maybe if I hadn’t thought about the treasure,” said Rostov, “but I remember putting it there.”
Lavrushka rummaged through the whole bed, looked under it, looked under the table, rummaged about everywhere, and stopped in the middle of the room. Denisov silently followed Lavrushka’s movements, and when Lavrushka spread his arms in surprise, saying it was not to be found anywhere, he looked at Rostov.
“Rostov, you’re not a prankst…”
Rostov felt Denisov’s gaze on him, raised his eyes, and instantly lowered them. All the blood he had locked up somewhere under his throat rushed to his face and eyes. He could scarcely breathe.
“There was nobody in the room except the lieutenant and you. It’s here somewhere,” said Lavrushka.
“Ah, you devil’s puppet, stir your stumps, get looking,” Denisov shouted suddenly, turning purple and hurling himself at the lackey with a menacing gesture. “There’ll be a purse, or I’ll flog you to death. I’ll flog you all to death!”
Rostov, avoiding Denisov’s eyes, began to button his jacket, buckled on his saber, and put on his peaked cap.
“I tell you, there’ll be a purse,” Denisov shouted, shaking the orderly by the shoulder and pushing him against the wall.
“Denisov, leave him alone; I know who took it,” said Rostov, approaching the door and not raising his eyes.
Denisov paused, reflected, and, evidently realizing what Rostov was alluding to, seized his arm.
“Rubbish!” he shouted so that the veins swelled like ropes on his neck and forehead. “You’ve lost your mind, I tell you, I won’t stand for it. The purse is here; I’ll skin this scoundrel alive, and it will be here.”
“I know who took it,” Rostov repeated in a trembling voice, going to the door.
“And I tell you, don’t you dare do that,” cried Denisov, rushing at the junker to hold him back.
But Rostov tore his arm free and, with as much spite as if Denisov was his greatest enemy, directly and firmly fixed his eyes on him.
“Do you realize what you’re saying?” he said in a trembling voice. “Besides me, there was no one else in the room. Which means, if that’s not it, then…”
He was unable to finish and ran out of the room.
“Ah, the devil take you and all the rest of them” were the last words Rostov heard.
Rostov went to Telyanin’s quarters.
“The master’s not at home, he’s gone to the staff,” Telyanin’s orderly told him. “Has something happened?” the orderly added, surprised to see the junker’s upset face.
“No, nothing.”
“You just missed him,” said the orderly.
The staff was quartered two miles from Salzeneck. Without stopping at home, Rostov took his horse and rode to the staff. In the village occupied by the staff there was a tavern frequented by the officers. Rostov rode to the tavern; near the porch he saw Telyanin’s horse.
The lieutenant was sitting in the second room of the tavern over a plate of sausage and a bottle of wine.
“Ah, you’ve come, too, young man,” he said, smiling and raising his eyebrows high.
“Yes,” said Rostov, as if it cost him great effort to utter this word, and sat at the next table.
Both were silent; there were two Germans in the room and a Russian officer. Everyone was silent, and only the clank of knives against plates was heard and the lieutenant’s chomping. When Telyanin finished his lunch, he took a double purse from his pocket, opened the clasp with his small, white, upturned fingers, took out a gold coin and, raising his eyebrows, gave it to the waiter.
“Make it quick, please,” he said.
The coin was a new one. Rostov got up and went over to Telyanin.
“May I look at your purse?” he said in a low, barely audible voice.
With shifty eyes, but still raising his eyebrows, Telyanin handed him the purse.
“Yes, a pretty purse…Yes…yes…” he said and suddenly turned pale. “Have a look, young man,” he added.
Rostov took the purse in his hands and looked at it, and at the money that was in it, and at Telyanin. The lieutenant glanced about, as was his habit, and suddenly seemed to become very merry.
“If we get to Vienna, I’ll leave it all there, but there’s nothing to do with it in these trashy little towns,” he said. “Well, young man, give it to me, I’m leaving.”
Rostov was silent.
“And why are you here? Also to have lunch? The food’s quite good,” Telyanin went on. “Give it to me.”
He reached out and put his hand on the purse. Rostov let go of it. Telyanin took the purse and began to lower it into the pocket of his riding breeches, his eyebrows raised casually, and his mouth slightly open, as if he was saying: “Yes, yes, I’m putting my purse in my pocket, and it’s quite simple, and it’s nobody’s business.”