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One of them was a sallow, clean-shaven civilian with a thin and

wrinkled face, already growing old, though he was dressed like a

most fashionable young man. He sat with his legs up on the sofa

as if quite at home and, having stuck an amber mouthpiece far

into his mouth, was inhaling the smoke spasmodically and screwing

up his eyes. This was an old bachelor, Shinshin, a cousin of the

countess', a man with "a sharp tongue" as they said in Moscow

society. He seemed to be condescending to his companion. The

latter, a fresh, rosy officer of the Guards, irreproachably

washed, brushed, and buttoned, held his pipe in the middle of his

mouth and with red lips gently inhaled the smoke, letting it

escape from his handsome mouth in rings. This was Lieutenant

Berg, an officer in the Semenov regiment with whom Boris was to

travel to join the army, and about whom Natasha had teased her

elder sister Vera, speaking of Berg as her "intended." The count

sat between them and listened attentively.