“My God!” he said, with tears in his eyes, “how could you do it?”

“Well, young man?” he said with a sign, and from under his lifted eyebrows he glanced into Rostov’s eyes. A kind of gleam passed with the swiftness of an electric flash from Telyanin’s eyes to the eyes of Rostov, and back again and back again and again, all in one instant.

“Come here,” said Rostov, taking Telyanin by the arm. He almost dragged him to the window. “That’s Denisov’s money; you took it …” he whispered in his ear.

“What? … what? … How dare you? What?” … said Telyanin. But the words sounded like a plaintive, despairing cry and prayer for forgiveness. As soon as Rostov heard the sound of his voice, a great weight of suspense, like a stone, rolled off his heart. He felt glad, and at the same instant he pitied the luckless creature standing before him, but he had to carry the thing through to the end.

“God knows what the people here may think,” muttered Telyanin, snatching up his forage-cap and turning towards a small empty room. “You must explain …”

“I know that, and I’ll prove it,” said Rostov.

“I …”

The terrified, white face of Telyanin began twitching in every muscle; his eyes still moved uneasily, but on the ground, never rising to the level of Rostov’s face, and tearful sobs could be heard.

“Count! … don’t ruin a young man … here is the wretched money, take it.” … He threw it on the table. “I’ve an old father and mother!”

Rostov took the money, avoiding Telyanin’s eyes, and without uttering a word, he went out of the room. But in the doorway he stopped and turned back.

“My God!” he said, with tears in his eyes, “how could you do it?”

“Count,” said Telyanin, coming nearer to the ensign.

“Don’t touch me,” said Rostov, drawing back. “If you’re in need take the money.”

He thrust a purse on him and ran out of the restaurant.

Chapter 5

IN THE EVENING of the same day a lively discussion was taking place in Denisov’s quarters between some officers of the squadron.

“But I tell you, Rostov, that you must apologise to the colonel,” the tall staff-captain was saying, addressing Rostov, who was crimson with excitement. The staff-captain, Kirsten, a man with grizzled hair, immense whiskers, thick features and a wrinkled face, had been twice degraded to the ranks for affairs of honour, and had twice risen again to holding a commission.

f f& m h n � � �� cs, which sufficed for her personal wants at the vicarage.

　　M. Myriel received from the State, in his quality of bishop, a salary of fifteen thousand francs.

　　On the very day when he took up his abode in the hospital, M. Myriel settled on the disposition of this sum once for all, in the following manner. We transcribe here a note made by his own hand:--

　　 NOTE ON THE REGULATION OF MY HOUSEHOLD EXPENSES.