At dinner they drank champagne to the health of the new cavalier of St. George, and Shinshin told them of the news of the town, of the illness of the old Georgian princess, and of the disappearance of Metivier from Moscow, and described how a German had been brought before Rastoptchin by the people, who declared （so Count Rastoptchin told the story） that he was a champignon, and how Count Rastoptchin had bade them let the champignon go, as he was really nothing but an old German mushroom.
“They keep on seizing people,” said the count. “I tell the countess she ought not to speak French so much. Now’s not the time to do it.”
“And did you hear,” said Shinshin, “Prince Galitzin has engaged a Russian teacher—he’s learning Russian. It begins to be dangerous to speak French in the streets.”
“Well, Count Pyotr Kirillitch, now if they raise a general militia, you will have to mount a horse too, ah？” said the old count addressing Pierre.
Pierre was dreamy and silent all dinner-time. He looked at the count as though not understanding.
“Yes, yes, for the war,” he said. “No！ A fine soldier I should make！ And yet everything’s so strange; so strange！ Why, I don’t understand it myself. I don’t know, I am far from being military in my taste, but in these days no one can answer for himself.”
After dinner the count settled himself comfortably in a low chair, and with a serious face asked Sonya, who enjoyed the reputation of a good reader, to read the Tsar’s appeal.
“To our metropolitan capital Moscow. The enemy has entered our border with an immense host and comes to lay waste our beloved country,” Sonya read conscientiously in her thin voice. The count listened with closed eyes, heaving abrupt sighs at certain passages.
Natasha sat erect, looking inquisitively and directly from her father to Pierre.
Pierre felt her eyes on him and tried not to look round. The countess shook her head disapprovingly and wrathfully at every solemn expression in the manifesto. In all these words she saw nothing but that the danger menacing her son would not soon be over. Shinshin, pursing his lips up into a sarcastic smile, was clearly preparing to make a joke at the first subject that presented itself： at Sonya’s reading, the count’s next remark, or even the manifesto itself, if no better pretext should be found.
After reading of the dangers threatening Russia, the hopes the Tsar rested upon Moscow, and particularly on its illustrious nobility, Sonya, with a quiver in her voice, due principally to the attention with which they were listening to her, read the last words： “We shall without delay be in the midst of our people in the capital, and in other parts of our empire, for deliberation, and for the guidance of all our militia levies both those which are already barring the progress of the foe, and those to be formed for conflict with him, wherever he may appear. And may the ruin with which he threatens us recoil on his own head, and may Europe, delivered from bondage, glorify the name of Russia！”
“That’s right！” cried the count, opening his wet eyes, and several times interrupted by a sniff, as though he had put a bottle of strong smelling-salts to his nose. He went on, “Only let our sovereign say the word, we will sacrifice everything without grudging.”
