Pierre, with downcast eyes, drank out of his glass without looking at Dolokhov or answering him.

The footman, who was distributing leaflets with Kutuzov's cantata, laid one before Pierre as one of the principal guests.

He was just going to take it when Dolokhov, leaning across, snatched it from his hand and began reading it.

Pierre looked at Dolokhov and his eyes dropped, the something terrible and monstrous that had tormented him all dinnertime rose and took possession of him.