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Not
only
did
his
reason
not
reproach
him
for
what
he
had
done
,
but
he
even
found
cause
for
self-satisfaction
in
having
so
successfully
contrived
to
avail
himself
of
a
convenient
opportunity
to
punish
a
criminal
and
at
the
same
time
pacify
the
mob
.
"
Vereshchágin
was
tried
and
condemned
to
death
,
"
thought
Rostopchín
(
though
the
Senate
had
only
condemned
Vereshchágin
to
hard
labor
)
,
"
he
was
a
traitor
and
a
spy
.
I
could
not
let
him
go
unpunished
and
so
I
have
killed
two
birds
with
one
stone
:
to
appease
the
mob
I
gave
them
a
victim
and
at
the
same
time
punished
a
miscreant
.
"
Having
reached
his
country
house
and
begun
to
give
orders
about
domestic
arrangements
,
the
count
grew
quite
tranquil
.
Half
an
hour
later
he
was
driving
with
his
fast
horses
across
the
Sokólniki
field
,
no
longer
thinking
of
what
had
occurred
but
considering
what
was
to
come
.
He
was
driving
to
the
Yaúza
bridge
where
he
had
heard
that
Kutúzov
was
.
Count
Rostopchín
was
mentally
preparing
the
angry
and
stinging
reproaches
he
meant
to
address
to
Kutúzov
for
his
deception
.
He
would
make
that
foxy
old
courtier
feel
that
the
responsibility
for
all
the
calamities
that
would
follow
the
abandonment
of
the
city
and
the
ruin
of
Russia
(
as
Rostopchín
regarded
it
)
would
fall
upon
his
doting
old
head
.
Planning
beforehand
what
he
would
say
to
Kutúzov
,
Rostopchín
turned
angrily
in
his
calèche
and
gazed
sternly
from
side
to
side
.
The
Sokólniki
field
was
deserted
.
Only
at
the
end
of
it
,
in
front
of
the
almshouse
and
the
lunatic
asylum
,
could
be
seen
some
people
in
white
and
others
like
them
walking
singly
across
the
field
shouting
and
gesticulating
.
One
of
these
was
running
to
cross
the
path
of
Count
Rostopchín
's
carriage
,
and
the
count
himself
,
his
coachman
,
and
his
dragoons
looked
with
vague
horror
and
curiosity
at
these
released
lunatics
and
especially
at
the
one
running
toward
them
.
Swaying
from
side
to
side
on
his
long
,
thin
legs
in
his
fluttering
dressing
gown
,
this
lunatic
was
running
impetuously
,
his
gaze
fixed
on
Rostopchín
,
shouting
something
in
a
hoarse
voice
and
making
signs
to
him
to
stop
.
The
lunatic
's
solemn
,
gloomy
face
was
thin
and
yellow
,
with
its
beard
growing
in
uneven
tufts
.
His
black
,
agate
pupils
with
saffron-yellow
whites
moved
restlessly
near
the
lower
eyelids
.
"
Stop
!
Pull
up
,
I
tell
you
!
"
he
cried
in
a
piercing
voice
,
and
again
shouted
something
breathlessly
with
emphatic
intonations
and
gestures
.
Coming
abreast
of
the
calèche
he
ran
beside
it
.
