“I have the pleasure of addressing Count Bezúkhov, if I am not mistaken,” said the stranger in a deliberate and loud voice. Pierre looked silently and inquiringly at him over his spectacles. “I have heard of you, my dear sir,” continued the stranger, “and of your misfortune.” He seemed to emphasize the last word, as if to say—“Yes, misfortune! Call it what you please, I know that what happened to you in Moscow was a misfortune.”—“I regret it very much, my dear sir.” Pierre flushed and, hurriedly putting his legs down from the bed, bent forward toward the old man with a forced and timid smile. “I have not referred to this out of curiosity, my dear sir, but for greater reasons.” He paused, his gaze still on Pierre, and moved aside on the sofa by way of inviting the other to take a seat beside him. Pierre felt reluctant to enter into conve...