an wearing a
cross round his neck, approached the speaker.

"It's a complicated story, you know," said the adjutant. "That
proclamation appeared about two months ago. The count was informed of
it. He gave orders to investigate the matter. Gabriel Ivanovich
here made the inquiries. The proclamation had passed through exactly
sixty-three hands. He asked one, 'From whom did you get it?' 'From
so-and-so.' He went to the next one. 'From whom did you get it?' and so
on till he reached Vereshchagin, a half educated tradesman, you know, 'a
pet of a trader,'" said the adjutant smiling. "They asked him, 'Who gave
it you?' And the point is that we knew whom he had it from. He could
only have had it from the Postmaster. But evidently they had come to
some understanding. He replied: 'From no one; I made it up myself.'
They threatened and questioned him, but he stuck to that: 'I made it
up myself.' And so it was reported to the count, who sent for the man.
'From whom did you get the proclamation?' 'I wrote it myself.' Well, you
know the count," said the adjutant cheerfully, with a smile of pride,
"he flared up dreadfully--and just think of the fellow's audacity,
lying, and obstinacy!"

"And the count wanted him to say it was from Klyucharev? I
understand!" said Pierre.

"Not at all," rejoined the adjutant in dismay. "Klyucharev had his own
sins to answer for without that and that is why he has been banished.
But the point is that the count was much annoyed. 'How could you have
written it yourself?' said he, and he took up the Hamburg Gazette that
was lying on the table. 'Here it is! You did not write it yourself but
translated it, and translated it abominably, because you don't even know
French, you fool.' And what do you think? 'No,' said he, 'I have not
read any papers, I made it up myself.' 'If that's so, you're a traitor
and I'll have you tried, and you'll be hanged! Say from whom you had
it.' 'I have seen no papers, I made it up myself.' And that was the end
of it. The count had the father fetched, but the fellow stuck to it.
He was sent for trial and condemned to hard labor, I believe. Now the
father has come to intercede for him. But he's a good-for-nothing lad!
You know that sort of tradesman's son, a dandy and lady-killer. He
attended some lectures somewhere and imagines that the devil is no match
for him. That's the sort of fellow he is. His father keeps a cookshop
here by the Stone Bridge, and you know there was a larg