Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general, in a white uniform that looked strange among the Russian black ones.
At first Kutuzov stood still while the regiment moved; then he and the general in white, accompanied by the suite, walked between the ranks.
Kutuzov walked through the ranks, sometimes stopping to say a few friendly words to officers he had known in the Turkish war, sometimes also to the soldiers.
Kutuzov walked slowly and languidly past thousands of eyes which were starting from their sockets to watch their chief.
One would have thought it impossible for a man to stretch himself more than Timokhin had done when he was reprimanded by the regimental commander, but now that the commander in chief addressed him he drew himself up to such an extent that it seemed he could not have sustained it had the commander in chief continued to look at him, and so Kutuzov, who evidently understood his case and wished him nothing but good, quickly turned away, a scarcely perceptible smile flitting over his scarred and puffy face.
"We all have our weaknesses," said Kutuzov smiling and walking away from him.
The third company was the last, and Kutuzov pondered, apparently trying to recollect something.
"Have you a complaint to make?" Kutuzov asked with a slight frown.
"Ah!" said Kutuzov. "I hope this will be a lesson to you.
A drummer, their leader, turned round facing the singers, and flourishing his arm, began a long-drawn-out soldiers' song, commencing with the words: "Morning dawned, the sun was rising," and concluding: "On then, brothers, on to glory, led by Father Kamenski." This song had been composed in the Turkish campaign and now being sung in Austria, the only change being that the words "Father Kamenski" were replaced by "Father Kutuzov."
But now that Kutuzov had spoken to the gentleman ranker, he addressed him with the cordiality of an old friend.