BOOK ELEVEN: 1812
25. CHAPTER XXV
(continued)
"Is my carriage ready?" asked Rostopchin, stepping back from the
window.
"It is, your excellency," replied the adjutant.
Rostopchin went again to the balcony door.
"But what do they want?" he asked the superintendent of police.
"Your excellency, they say they have got ready, according to your
orders, to go against the French, and they shouted something about
treachery. But it is a turbulent crowd, your excellency- I hardly
managed to get away from it. Your excellency, I venture to suggest..."
"You may go. I don't need you to tell me what to do!" exclaimed
Rostopchin angrily.
He stood by the balcony door looking at the crowd.
"This is what they have done with Russia! This is what they have
done with me!" thought he, full of an irrepressible fury that welled
up within him against the someone to whom what was happening might
be attributed. As often happens with passionate people, he was
mastered by anger but was still seeking an object on which to vent it.
"Here is that mob, the dregs of the people," he thought as he gazed at
the crowd: "this rabble they have roused by their folly! They want a
victim," he thought as he looked at the tall lad flourishing his
arm. And this thought occurred to him just because he himself
desired a victim, something on which to vent his rage.
"Is the carriage ready?" he asked again.
"Yes, your excellency. What are your orders about Vereshchagin? He
is waiting at the porch," said the adjutant.
"Ah!" exclaimed Rostopchin, as if struck by an unexpected
recollection.
And rapidly opening the door he went resolutely out onto the
balcony. The talking instantly ceased, hats and caps were doffed,
and all eyes were raised to the count.
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