'Well, young cavalryman, how is my Rook behaving?' he asked. (Rook was a young horse Telyanin had sold to Rostov.)
The lieutenant never looked the man he was speaking to straight in the face; his eyes continually wandered from one object to another.
'I saw you riding this morning...' he added.
'Oh, he's all right, a good horse,' answered Rostov, though the horse for which he had paid seven hundred rubbles was not worth half that sum. 'He's begun to go a little lame on the left foreleg,' he added.
'The hoof's cracked! That's nothing. I'll teach you what to do and show you what kind of rivet to use.'
'Yes, please do,' said Rostov.
'I'll show you, I'll show you! It's not a secret. And it's a horse you'll thank me for.'
'Then I'll have it brought round,' said Rostov wishing to avoid Telyanin, and he went out to give the order.
In the passage Denisov, with a pipe, was squatting on the threshold facing the quartermaster who was reporting to him. On seeing Rostov, Denisov screwed up his face and pointing over his shoulder with his thumb to the room where Telyanin was sitting, he frowned and gave a shudder of disgust.
'Ugh! I don't like that fellow,' he said, regardless of the quartermaster's presence.
Rostov shrugged his shoulders as much as to say: 'Nor do I, but what's one to do?' and, having given his order, he returned to Telyanin.
Telyanin was sitting in the same indolent pose in which Rostov had left him, rubbing his small white hands.
'Well there certainly are disgusting people,' thought Rostov as he entered.
'Have you told them to bring the horse?' asked Telyanin, getting up and looking carelessly about him.
'I have.'
'Let us go ourselves. I only came round to ask Denisov about yesterday's order. Have you got it, Denisov?'
'Not yet. But where are you off to?'
'I want to teach this young man how to shoe a horse,' said Telyanin.
They went through the porch and into the stable. The lieutenant explained how to rivet the hoof and went away to his own quarters.
When Rostov went back there was a bottle of vodka and a sausage on the table. Denisov was sitting there scratching with his pen on a sheet of paper. He looked gloomily in Rostov's face and said: 'I am witing to her.'
He leaned his elbows on the table with his pen in his hand and, evidently glad of a chance to say quicker in words what he wanted to write, told Rostov the contents of his letter.
'You see, my fwiend,' he said, 'we sleep when we don't love. We are childwen of the dust... but one falls in love and one is a God, one is pua' as on the first day of cweation... Who's that now? Send him to the devil, I'm busy!' he shouted to Lavrushka, who went up to him not in the least abashed.
'Who should it be? You yourself told him to come. It's the quartermaster for the money.'
Denisov frowned and was about to shout some reply but stopped.
'Wetched business,' he muttered to himself. 'How much is left in the puhse?' he asked, turning to Rostov.
'Seven new and three old imperials.'
'Oh, it's wetched! Well, what are you standing there for, you sca'cwow? Call the quahtehmasteh,' he shouted to Lavrushka.
'Please, Denisov, let me lend you some: I have some, you know,' said Rostov, blushing.
'Don't like bowwowing from my own fellows, I don't,' growled Denisov.
'But if you won't accept money from me like a comrade, you will offend me. Really I have some,' Rostov repeated.
'No, I tell you.'
And Denisov went to the bed to get the purse from under the pillow.
'Where have you put it, Wostov?'
'Under the lower pillow.'
'It's not there.'
Denisov threw both pillows on the floor. The purse was not there.
'That's a miwacle.'
'Wait, haven't you dropped it?' said Rostov, picking up the pillows one at a time and shaking them.
He pulled off the quilt and shook it. The purse was not there.
'Dear me, can I have forgotten? No, I remember thinking that you kept it under your head like a treasure,' said Rostov. 'I put it just here. Where is it?' he asked, turning to Lavrushka.
'I haven't been in the room. It must be where you put it.'
'But it isn't?...'
