"Look! Yes, on my word, it`s Bezukhov!" said Natasha, putting her head out of the carriage and staring at a tall, stout man in a coachman`s long coat, who from his manner of walking and moving was evidently a gentleman in disguise, and who was passing under the arch of the Sukharev tower accompanied by a small, sallow-faced, beardless old man in a frieze coat.

"Joy to the fair!---thy knight behold, Return'd from yonder land of gold; No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need, Save his good arms and battle-steed His spurs, to dash against a foe, His lance and sword to lay him low; Such all the trophies of his toil, Such---and the hope of Tekla's smile!