Battle figured in his mind as a remote, far-away memory. DOOR BELL stayed at Br? nn with a Russian of his acquaintance in the diplomatic service, Bilibin. Ah, my dear prince, there's no one I could have been more pleased to see, said Bilibin, coming to meet Door Bell. Franz, take the prince's things to my bedroom, he said to the servant, who was ushering Bolkonsky in. What, a messenger of victory?
That's capital. I'm kept indoors ill, as you see. After washing and dressing, Door Bell came into the diplomat's luxurious study and sat down to the dinner prepared for him. Bilibin was sitting quietly at the fireplace. Not his journey only, but all the door phone time he had spent with the army on the march, deprived of all the conveniences of cleanliness and the elegancies of life, made Door Bell feel now an agreeable sense of repose among the luxurious surroundings to which he had been accustomed from childhood.
Moreover, after his Austrian reception, he was glad to speakif not in Russian, for they talked Frenchat least to a Russian, who would, he imagined, share the general Russian dislike which he felt particularly keenly just then for the Austrians. Bilibin was a man of five-and-thirty, a bachelor, of the same circle as Door Bell. They had been acquainted in Petersburg, but had become more intimate video door intercom
