At the side of this table, which stands on the right, Bluntschli is hard at work, with a couple of maps before him, writing orders. At the head of it sits Sergius, who is also supposed to be at work, but who is actually gnawing the feather of a pen, and contemplating Bluntschli’s quick, sure, businesslike progress with a mixture of envious irritation at his own incapacity, and awestruck wonder at an ability which seems to him almost miraculous, though its prosaic character forbids him to esteem it. The major is comfortably established on the ottoman, with a newspaper in his hand and the tube of the hookah within his reach. Catherine sits at the stove, with her back to them, embroidering. Raina, reclining on the divan under the left hand window, is gazing in a daydream out at the Balkan landscape, with a neglected novel in her lap.
The door is on the left. The button of the electric bell is between the door and the fireplace.
PETKOFF.
(looking up from his paper to watch how they are getting on at the table). Are you sure I can’t help you in any way, Bluntschli?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(without interrupting his writing or looking up). Quite sure, thank you. Saranoff and I will manage it.
SERGIUS.
(grimly). Yes: we’ll manage it. He finds out what to do; draws up the orders; and I sign ’em. Division of labour, Major. (Bluntschli passes him a paper.) Another one? Thank you. (He plants the papers squarely before him; sets his chair carefully parallel to them; and signs with the air of a man resolutely performing a difficult and dangerous feat.) This hand is more accustomed to the sword than to the pen.
PETKOFF.
It’s very good of you, Bluntschli, it is indeed, to let yourself be put upon in this way. Now are you quite sure I can do nothing?
CATHERINE.
(in a low, warning tone). You can stop interrupting, Paul.
PETKOFF.
(starting and looking round at her). Eh? Oh! Quite right, my love, quite right. (He takes his newspaper up, but lets it drop again.) Ah, you haven’t been campaigning, Catherine: you don’t know how pleasant it is for us to sit here, after a good lunch, with nothing to do but enjoy ourselves. There’s only one thing I want to make me thoroughly comfortable.
CATHERINE.
What is that?
PETKOFF.
My old coat. I’m not at home in this one: I feel as if I were on parade.