Beside Kutuzov sat an Austrian general, in a white uniform that looked strange among the Russian black ones.

The caleche stopped in front of the regiment.

Kutuzov and the Austrian general were talking in low voices and Kutuzov smiled slightly as treading heavily he stepped down from the carriage just as if those two thousand men breathlessly gazing at him and the regimental commander did not exist.

The word of command rang out, and again the regiment quivered, as with a jingling sound it presented arms.