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"Where? At Bykov's, at the rat's... I knew it," replied a piping

voice, and Lieutenant Telyanin, a small officer of the same

squadron, entered the room.

Rostov thrust the purse under the pillow and shook the damp

little hand which was offered him. Telyanin for some reason had

been transferred from the Guards just before this campaign. He

behaved very well in the regiment but was not liked; Rostov

especially detested him and was unable to overcome or conceal his

groundless antipathy to the man.

"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.