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Having given several more orders, he was about to go to his

"little countess" to have a rest, but remembering something else

of importance, he returned again, called back the cook and the

club steward, and again began giving orders. A light footstep and

the clinking of spurs were heard at the door, and the young

count, handsome, rosy, with a dark little mustache, evidently

rested and made sleeker by his easy life in Moscow, entered the

room.

"Ah, my boy, my head's in a whirl!" said the old man with a

smile, as if he felt a little confused before his son. "Now, if

you would only help a bit! I must have singers too. I shall have

my own orchestra, but shouldn't we get the gypsy singers as well?

You military men like that sort of thing."

"Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagration worried himself less

before the battle of Schon Grabern than you do now," said his son

with a smile.

The old count pretended to be angry.

"Yes, you talk, but try it yourself!"