AT TEN O'CLOCK in the evening, Weierother with his plans rode over to Kutuzov's quarters, where the council of war was to take place. All the commanders of columns were summoned to the commander-in-chief's, and with the exception of Prince Bagration, who declined to come, all of them arrived at the hour fixed.
Weierother, who was entirely responsible for all the arrangements for the proposed battle, in his eagerness and hurry, was a striking contrast to the ill-humoured and sleepy Kutuzov, who reluctantly played the part of president and chairman of the council of war. Weierother obviously felt himself at the head of the movement that had been set going and could not be stopped. He was like a horse in harness running downhill with a heavy load behind him. Whether he were pulling it or it were pushing him, he could not have said, but he was flying along at full speed with no time to consider where this swift motion would land him. Weierother had been twice that evening to make a personal inspection up to the enemy's line, and twice he had been with the Emperors, Russian and Austrian, to report and explain, and to his office, where he had dictated the disposition of the German troops. He came now, exhausted, to Kutuzov's.
He was evidently so much engrossed that he even forgot to be respectful to the commander-in-chief. He interrupted him, talked rapidly and indistinctly, without looking at the person he was addressing, failed to answer questions that were put to him, was spattered with mud, and had an air pitiful, exhausted, distracted, and at the same time self-confident and haughty.
Kutuzov was staying in a small nobleman's castle near Austerlitz. In the drawing-room, which had been made the commander-in-chief's study, were gathered together: Kutuzov himself, Weierother, and the members of the council of war. They were drinking tea. They were only waiting for Prince Bagration to open the council. Presently Bagration's orderly officer came with a message that the prince could not be present. Prince Andrey came in to inform the commander-in-chief of this; and, profiting by the permission previously given him by Kutuzov to be present at the council, he remained in the room.
“Well, since Prince Bagration isn't coming, we can begin,” said Weierother, hastily getting up from his place and approaching the table, on which an immense map of the environs of Brünn lay unfolded.
Kutuzov, his uniform unbuttoned, and his fat neck as though set free from bondage, bulging over the collar, was sitting in a low chair with his podgy old hands laid symmetrically on the arms; he was almost asleep.
At the sound of Weierother's voice, he made an effort and opened his solitary eye.
“Yes, yes, please, it's late as it is,” he assented, and nodding his head, he let it droop and closed his eyes again.
If the members of the council had at first believed Kutuzov to be shamming sleep, the nasal sounds to which he gave vent during the reading that followed, proved that the commander-in-chief was concerned with something of far greater consequence than the desire to show his contempt for their disposition of the troops or anything else whatever; he was concerned with the satisfaction of an irresistible human necessity—sleep. He was really asleep. Weierother, with the gesture of a man too busy to lose even a minute of his time, glanced at Kutuzov and satisfying himself that he was asleep, he took up a paper and in a loud, monotonous tone began reading the disposition of the troops in the approaching battle under a heading, which he also read.
“Disposition for the attack of the enemy's position behind Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz, November 20, 1805.”
The disposition was very complicated and intricate.
“As the enemy's left wing lies against the wooded hills and their right wing is advancing by way of Kobelnitz and Sokolnitz behind the swamps that lie there, while on the other hand our left wing stretches far beyond their right, it will be advantageous to attack this last-named wing, especially if we have possession of the villages of Sokolnitz and Kobelnitz, by which means we can at once fall on them in the rear and pursue them in the open between Schlapanitz and the Thuerassa-Wald, thereby avoiding the defiles of Schlapanitz and Bellowitz, which are covered by the enemy's front. With this ultimate aim it will be necessary … The first column marches … The second column marches … The third column marches” … read Weierother.
The generals seemed to listen reluctantly to the intricate account of the disposition of the troops. The tall, fair-haired general, Buxhevden, stood leaning his back against the wall, and fixing his eyes on a burning candle, he seemed not to be listening, not even to wish to be thought to be listening. Exactly opposite to Weierother, with his bright, wide-open eyes fixed upon him, was Miloradovitch, a ruddy man, with whiskers and shoulders turned upwards, sitting in a military pose with his hands on his knees and his elbows bent outwards. He sat in obstinate silence, staring into Weierother's face, and only taking his eyes off him when the Austrian staff-commander ceased speaking. Then Miloradovitch looked round significantly at the other generals. But from that significant glance it was impossible to tell whether he agreed or disagreed, was pleased or displeased, at the arrangements. Next to Weierother sat Count Langeron, with a subtle smile that never left his Southern French face during the reading; he gazed at his delicate fingers as he twisted round a golden snuff-box with a portrait on it. In the middle of one of the lengthy paragraphs he stopped the rotatory motion of the snuff-box, lifted his head, and with hostile courtesy lurking in the corners of his thin lips, interrupted Weierother and would have said something. But the Austrian general, continuing to read, frowned angrily with a motion of the elbows that seemed to say: “Later, later, you shall give your opinion, now be so good as to look at the map and listen.” Langeron turned up his eyes with a look of bewilderment, looked round at Miloradovitch, as though seeking enlightenment, but meeting the significant gaze of Miloradovitch, that signified nothing, he dropped his eyes dejectedly, and fell to twisting his snuff-box again.
“A geography lesson,” he murmured as though to himself, but loud enough to be heard.
Przhebyshevsky, with respectful but dignified courtesy, put his hand up to his ear on the side nearest Weierother, with the air of a man absorbed in attention. Dohturov, a little man, sat opposite Weierother with a studious and modest look on his face. Bending over the map, he was conscientiously studying the arrangement of the troops and the unfamiliar locality. Several times he asked Weierother to repeat words and difficult names of villages that he had not caught. Weierother did so, and Dohturov made a note of them.
When the reading, which lasted more than an hour, was over, Langeron, stopping his twisting snuff-box, began to speak without looking at Weierother or any one in particular. He pointed out how difficult it was to carry out such a disposition, in which the enemy's position was assumed to be known, when it might well be uncertain seeing that the enemy was in movement. Langeron's objections were well founded, yet it was evident that their principal object was to make Weierother, who had read his plans so conceitedly, as though to a lot of schoolboys, feel that he had to deal not with fools, but with men who could teach him something in military matters.
When the monotonous sound of Weierother's voice ceased, Kutuzov opened his eyes, as the miller wakes up at any interruption in the droning of the mill-wheels, listened to what Langeron was saying, and as though saying to himself: “Oh, you're still at the same nonsense!” made haste to close his eyes again, and let his head sink still lower.
Langeron, trying to deal the most malignant thrusts possible at Weierother's military vanity as author of the plan, showed that Bonaparte might easily become the attacking party instead of waiting to be attacked, and so render all this plan of the disposition of the troops utterly futile. Weierother met all objections with a confident and contemptuous smile, obviously prepared beforehand for every objection, regardless of what they might say to him.
“If he could have attacked us, he would have done so to-day,” he said.
“You suppose him, then, to be powerless?” said Langeron.
“I doubt if he has as much as forty thousand troops,” answered Weierother with the smile of a doctor to whom the sick-nurse is trying to expound her own method of treatment.
“In that case, he is going to meet his ruin in awaiting our attack,” said Langeron with a subtle, ironical smile, looking round again for support to Miloradovitch near him. But Miloradovitch was obviously thinking at that instant of anything in the world rather than the matter in dispute between the generals.
“Ma foi,” he said, “to-morrow we shall see all that on the field of battle.”
Weierother smiled again, a smile that said that it was comic and queer for him to meet with objections from Russian generals and to have to give proofs to confirm what he was not simply himself convinced of, but had thoroughly convinced their majesties the Emperors of too.
“The enemy have extinguished their fires and a continual noise has been heard in their camp,” he said. “What does that mean? Either they are retreating—the only thing we have to fear, or changing their position” (he smiled ironically). “But even if they were to take up their position at Turas, it would only be saving us a great deal of trouble, and all our arrangements will remain unchanged in the smallest detail.”
“How can that be?…” said Prince Andrey, who had a long while been looking out for an opportunity of expressing his doubts. Kutuzov waked up, cleared his throat huskily, and looked round at the generals.
“Gentlemen, the disposition for to-morrow, for to-day indeed (for it's going on for one o'clock), can't be altered now,” he said. “You have heard it, and we will all do our duty. And before a battle nothing is of so much importance…” (he paused) “as a good night's rest.”
He made a show of rising from his chair. The generals bowed themselves out. It was past midnight. Prince Andrey went out.
The council of war at which Prince Andrey had not succeeded in expressing his opinion, as he had hoped to do, had left on him an impression of uncertainty and uneasiness. Which was right—Dolgorukov and Weierother? or Kutuzov and Langeron and the others, who did not approve of the plan of attack—he did not know. But had it really been impossible for Kutuzov to tell the Tsar his views directly? Could it not have been managed differently? On account of personal and court considerations were tens of thousands of lives to be risked—“and my life, mine?” he thought.
“Yes, it may well be that I shall be killed to-morrow,” he thought.
And all at once, at that thought of death, a whole chain of memories, the most remote and closest to his heart, rose up in his imagination. He recalled his last farewell to his father and his wife; he recalled the early days of his love for her, thought of her approaching motherhood; and he felt sorry for her and for himself, and in a nervously overwrought and softened mood he went out of the cottage at which he and Nesvitsky were putting up, and began to walk to and fro before it. The night was foggy, and the moonlight glimmered mysteriously through the mist. “Yes, to-morrow, to-morrow!” he thought. “To-morrow, maybe, all will be over for me, all these memories will be no more, all these memories will have no more meaning for me. To-morrow, perhaps—for certain, indeed—to-morrow, I have a presentiment, I shall have for the first time to show all I can do.” And he pictured the engagement, the loss of it, the concentration of the fighting at one point, and the hesitation of all the commanding officers. And then the happy moment—that Toulon he had been waiting for so long—at last comes to him. Resolutely and clearly he speaks his opinion to Kutuzov and Weierother, and the Emperors. All are struck by the justness of his view, but no one undertakes to carry it into execution, and behold, he leads the regiment, only making it a condition that no one is to interfere with his plans, and he leads his division to the critical point and wins the victory alone. “And death and agony!” said another voice. But Prince Andrey did not answer that voice, and went on with his triumphs. The disposition of the battle that ensues is all his work alone. Nominally, he is an adjutant on the staff of Kutuzov, but he does everything alone. The battle is gained by him alone. Kutuzov is replaced, he is appointed.… “Well, and then?” said the other voice again, “what then, if you do a dozen times over escape being wounded, killed, or deceived before that; well, what then?” “Why, then…” Prince Andrey answered himself, “I don't know what will come then, I can't know, and don't want to; but if I want that, if I want glory, want to be known to men, want to be loved by them, it's not my fault that I want it, that it's the only thing I care for, the only thing I live for. Yes, the only thing! I shall never say to any one, but, my God! what am I to do, if I care for nothing but glory, but men's love? Death, wounds, the loss of my family—nothing has terrors for me. And dear and precious as many people are to me: father, sister, wife—the people dearest to me; yet dreadful and unnatural as it seems, I would give them all up for a moment of glory, of triumph over men, of love from men whom I don't know, and shall never know, for the love of those people there,” he thought, listening to the talk in the courtyard of Kutuzov's house. He could hear the voices of the officers' servants packing up; one of them, probably a coachman, was teasing Kutuzov's old cook, a man called Tit, whom Prince Andrey knew. He kept calling him and making a joke on his name.
“Tit, hey, Tit?” he said.
“Well?” answered the old man.
“Tit, stupay molotit” (“Tit, go a-thrashing”), said the jester.
“Pooh, go to the devil, do,” he heard the cook's voice, smothered in the laughter of the servants.
“And yet, the only thing I love and prize is triumph over all of them, that mysterious power and glory which seems hovering over me in this mist!”
晚上九点多钟，魏罗特尔随身带着他的计划走了一段路来到预定召开军事会议的库图佐夫驻地。总司令传唤纵队的各个长官，除去拒绝出席会议的巴格拉季翁公爵而外，所有的人都按时到会了。
魏罗特尔是预定的战役的干事长，他那活泼而匆忙的样子和心怀不满、死气沉沉的库图佐夫截然相反，库图佐夫不愿发挥军事会议主席和领导的作用。魏罗特尔显然觉得他自己正在领导一次不可遏止的迂回运动。他俨像一匹上套的马，载着一车物品向山下疾驰而去。他在运载，或者被驱赶，他不知道，但是他尽量快地飞奔着，没有时间来讨论这次运动会带来什么后果。这天夜晚，魏罗特尔两次亲自察看敌军的散兵线，两次觐见俄皇和奥皇，汇报和说明军事动态，并在自己的办公室内口授德文的进军命令。他已经精疲力尽，此刻正前来晋谒库图佐夫。
他显然很忙，甚至于忘记对总司令要表示尊敬，他不时地打断他的话，匆促而不清晰地发言，连眼睛也不瞧着对话人的面孔，不回答他所提出的问题，他身上给泥土弄得脏透了，那样子显得可怜、精疲力竭、怅然若失，同时又显得过分自信和骄傲。
库图佐夫在奥斯特利茨附近占用一座不大的贵族城堡。这几个人：库图佐夫本人、魏罗特尔和军委会的几个成员在一间变成总司令办公室的大客厅中聚集起来。他们正在喝茶。他们所等候的只有巴格拉季翁公爵，一俟他抵达，就召开军事会议。七点多钟，巴格拉季翁的传令军官来到了，他告知公爵不能出席会议。安德烈公爵闻讯后前来禀告总司令。因此，事前他得到总司令许可，有出席这次军事会议的权利，他于是在房里留下来了。
“因为巴格拉季翁公爵不会来，所以我们可以开会了。”魏罗特尔连忙从座位上站立起来，向一张摆着布吕恩郊区大地图的桌子近旁走去时说道。
库图佐夫身穿一件没有扣上钮扣的制服，他那肥胖的颈项仿佛得到解救似的，从制服中伸出来，他坐在伏尔泰椅上，把那胖乎乎的老人的手对称地放在伏尔泰椅扶手上，几乎快要睡着了。他一听见魏罗特尔的声音，就勉强睁开那只独眼睛。
“对，对，请吧，要不然就太晚了。”他说道，点点头后，低下头来，又闭上眼睛。
如果军委会的成员最初都以为库图佐夫装出仿佛睡着的样子，那末后来在宣读进军部署时，他发出的鼻息声就证明，总司令这时看来有一件事极为重要，比那轻视进军部署的意图或者轻视任何事物的意图都重要得多，这就是在满足一种非满足不可的人的需要——睡眠。他的确睡熟了。魏罗特尔的动作，看起来就像某人太忙、即令一分钟也不能浪费似的，他瞧瞧库图佐夫，心里相信他真的睡熟了，于是拿起文件，用那单调而洪亮的声音开始宣读未来的进军部署，连标题也宣读了一遍。
《关于进攻科尔别尼茨与索科尔尼茨后面的敌军阵地的作战部署，一八○五年十一月二十目。》
这项进军部署非常复杂，非常难懂，进军部署的如下：
因为敌军的左翼依傍森林覆盖的山地，右翼沿着其后布满池塘的科别尔尼茨村和索科尔尼茨村徐徐地向前推进，与之相反，我军的左翼优越于敌军的右翼。进攻敌军的右翼于我军有利，如果我军攻克索科尔尼茨村和科尔别尼茨村，势必尤为有利，我军从而得以进攻敌军的侧翼，避开施拉帕尼茨和借以掩蔽敌军阵线的贝洛维茨之间的隘路，在施拉帕尼茨和图拉斯森林之间的平原上追击敌人。为臻达此一目的，务须……第一纵队向前挺进……第二纵队向前挺进……第三纵队向前挺进……等等。
魏罗特尔还在宣读作战部署。将军们似乎不愿意倾听难懂的作战部署。布克斯格夫登将军身材魁梧，头发淡黄，把背靠在墙上站着，他的视线停留在点燃着的蜡烛上，看来他不听，甚至不希望别人以为他正在倾听。脸色绯红的米洛拉多维奇微微地翘起胡子，耸起肩膀坐在魏罗特尔对面，他睁开闪闪发光的眼睛注视他，摆出一副寻衅斗殴的架势，胳膊肘向外弯屈，两只手撑在膝盖上。他久久地默不作声，一面瞅着魏罗特尔的面孔，在奥国参谋长没有开腔的时候，才从他脸上移开自己的目光。这时米洛拉多维奇意味深长地环顾其他几位将军。但从这种意味深长的眼神来看，尚且无法明了他同意抑或不同意，他满意抑或不满意进军部署。朗热隆伯爵坐在离魏罗特尔最近的地方，在宣读作战部署的时候，他那法国南方人的脸上露出含蓄的微笑，一面瞧着自己的纤细的指头，他的指头捏着镶嵌有肖像的金质鼻烟壶的两角，把它迅速地翻过来，转过去。读到一个圆周句的半中间，他停止转动鼻烟壶，把头抬起来，他那薄薄的嘴唇角上带着不愉快的，但却恭敬的表情打断魏罗特尔的宣读，心里想说点什么话，但是奥国将军并没有停止宣读，愤怒地蹙起额角，挥了挥臂肘，仿佛在说：以后，以后您会把您自己的想法告诉我的，现在请您观看这张地图，听我宣读进军部署。朗热隆抬起眼睛，带着困惑不安的表情，朝米洛拉多维奇瞥了一眼，仿佛在寻找解释，但一遇见米洛拉多维奇的意味深长的，但却毫无含义的眼神，他就忧愁地垂下眼睛，又开始转动鼻烟壶了。
“Unelecondegéographie．”①他仿佛自言自语地说，但嗓音相当洪亮，使大家都能听见他的话。
①法语：一堂地理课。
普热贝舍夫斯基装出一副恭恭敬敬、而又彬彬有礼的样子，他用一只手折弯耳朵，将身子凑近魏罗特尔，那样子就像某人的注意力被人吸引住似的。身材矮小的多赫图罗夫坐在魏罗特尔对面，现出勤奋而谦逊的样子，在一张摊开的地图前面俯下身子，认真地研究进军部署和他不熟悉的地形。他有几次请求魏罗特尔重复他没有听清的词语和难以记忆的村名。魏罗特尔履行了他的意愿，多赫图罗夫记录下来。
宣读进军部署延续一个多小时才结束，这时分朗热隆又停止转动鼻烟壶，他不注意魏罗特尔，也不特意地注视任何人，他开始说到，执行这样的进军部署是很困难的，熟悉敌情只是假设而已，而我们也许不熟悉敌情，因为敌军在向前推进的缘故。朗热隆的异议是有根据的，显然，异议的目的主要是，他想使这个满怀自信的、像对小学生宣读他的进军部署的魏罗特尔将军感到，他不是和一些笨蛋打交道，而是和一些在军事方面可以教教他的人打交道。魏罗特尔的单调的语声停息后，库图佐夫睁开了眼睛，就像令人昏昏欲睡的磨坊中的轮盘转动声暂停时、磨坊主从睡梦中醒来一样，他倾听朗热隆说话，那神态仿佛在说：“你们还在说这些蠢话啊！”又急忙合上眼睛，把头垂得更低了。
朗热隆想尽量恶毒地凌辱魏罗特尔这个进军部署的作者在军事上的自尊心，他于是证明，波拿巴不会挨打，而会轻而易举地发动进攻，他因此要把这项部署变成毫无用处的东西。魏罗特尔对各种异议都坚定地报以轻蔑的微笑，显然于事前有所准备，无论别人对他提出任何异议，都付之一笑。
“如果他会向我们发动进攻，他现在就进攻了。”他说道。
“您因此以为，他软弱无力吗？”朗热隆说道。
“他充其量只有四万军队。”魏罗特尔说，他面露微笑，巫婆向医生指示医疗方法时医生也会露出同样的微笑。
“在这种场合，只要他等待我们的进攻，他就要一命呜呼。”朗热隆露出含蓄的讥讽的微笑说，又回头望着离他最近的米洛拉多维奇，求他证实他的观点的正确。
但是，这时候米洛拉多维奇显然不太去考虑将军们辩论的事情。
“mafoi．”①他说道，“明天我们在战场上见分晓。”
①法语：真的。
魏罗特尔又面露冷笑，这表明，遇到来自俄国将军们提出的异议，证实那不仅他本人极为相信，而且二位皇帝陛下也都相信的事情，使他觉得荒谬可笑而且古怪。
“敌人熄灭了灯火，敌营中传来不断的喧哗，”他说，“这意味着什么？也许敌人渐渐走远了，我们不得不担心这一点，也许敌人正在改变阵地（他冷冷一笑）。但是那使敌人占领了图拉斯阵地，只不过会使我们摆脱许多麻烦的事情，各种详细的指示仍旧可以原封不动。”
“究竟怎么样？……”安德烈公爵老早就在等待时机，借以表白自己的疑虑，他说道。
库图佐夫睡醒了，他吃力地咳了几声清清嗓子，并向将军们环视一周。
“先生们，明天，甚至是今天（因为已经十二点多了）的进军部署不能变动，”他说道，“你们都听过了，我们大家都要履行我们的天职。而在作战前……（他沉默片刻）没有比睡好一觉更重要的事了。”
他做出微微欠身的样子。将军们鞠了一躬，都离开了。已经是更残漏尽。安德烈公爵走出去了。
正如他所期望的那样，安德烈公爵未能发表意见的军事会议给他留下了模糊不清而又令人不安的印象。是谁说得对：是多尔戈鲁科夫和魏罗特尔呢，还是库图佐夫、朗热隆和其他不赞成进攻计划的人呢，他不知道。“难道库图佐夫不能向国王直接说出自己的想法吗？难道不能有其他方式吗？难道因为朝廷和个人的意图而要几万人和我——去冒生命危险吗？”他想道。
“是的，十之八九，明天会被打死的。”他想了想。一想到死亡，他脑海中忽然浮现出一系列的回忆：久远的往事的回忆，内心隐秘的回忆；他回忆他和父亲、妻子最后的告别，他回忆他和她初恋的时光，回忆起她的妊娠，他很怜悯她和他自己，他于是处于神经有几分过敏和激动不安的状态中，从他和涅斯维茨基暂时居住的木房中走出来，在屋子前面踱来踱去。
夜间大雾弥天，月牙儿神秘莫测地穿过雾霭闪闪发光。
“是啊，明天，明天！”他心中想道。“对我来说，明天也许一切都完了，这一切回忆再也不会浮现出来，这一切回忆再也没有任何意义了。大概就是在明天，甚至，一定就在明天，这一点我预感到了，我总算遇到机会，藉以表现我能做到的一切。”他想象到一场战斗，战斗中军队的死亡、兵力集中在一个点上的战斗、全体长官的仓皇失措。他终于想到那个幸福的时刻、那个他长久地期待的土伦之战。他把自己的意见坚定而明确地告诉库图佐夫、魏罗特尔和二位皇帝。大家都对他的见解的正确感到惊讶，但是谁也不着手执行，他于是带领一个团、一个师，讲定条件，任何人不得干预他的号令，他领导一师人前往决战的地点，独自一人赢得胜利。而死亡和苦难呢？另一种心声这样说。但是安德烈公爵对这种心声没有作出回答，他继续想象他的战功。他一个人来拟订下一次的作战部署。他在库图佐夫部下获得军内值勤官的称号，可是一切事务由他一人承担。他独自一人赢得下次战役的胜利。库图佐夫被撤掉，由他来接受委任……那以后怎么样呢？又有一个心声说，那以后呢，如果在这之前你十次都未负伤，未阵亡，或未受人欺骗，那以后怎么样呢？“那以后……”安德烈公爵回答自己提出的问题，“我不知道以后会怎样，我不想知道，也无法知道，设若我有这种心愿，我希望获得光荣，希望成为一个知名人士，成为一个备受爱戴的人士，我怀有这个心愿，唯一的心愿，我为这一心愿而生，要知道，我并无过错。是啊，为这一心愿而生！我永远不向任何人说出这番话，我的天啊！如果除开光荣、仁爱而外，我一无所爱，那我应该怎么办呢。死亡、创伤、家庭的丧失，我觉得毫不足畏。许多人——父亲、妹妹、妻子，最亲爱的人，无论我觉得他们多么可爱，多么可亲，但在追求荣誉、取胜于人的时刻，为博得不认识的，以后也不认识的人对我的爱戴，为博得这些人的爱戴，无论这看来多么可怕，多么不寻常，我也要立刻把他们一个个全都割舍。”他在倾听库图佐夫门外的说话声时思考了一下。库图佐夫的门户外面可以听见收拾行装的勤务兵的说话声。马车夫大概在逗弄库图佐夫的老伙夫，安德烈公爵认识他，他叫作季特；这时只听见马车夫一人的说话声：“季特，季特呢？”
“嗯。”这个老人回答。
“季特，去打小麦吧。”这个诙谐的人说道。
“呸，见鬼去吧。”可以听见被勤务兵和仆役们的哈哈大笑声掩盖的说话声。
“我仍旧喜爱，而且只是爱惜我对一切人的胜利，爱惜这种神秘的威力和荣誉，因为它正萦绕在我上方的雾霭之中！”
欢迎访问英文小说网http://novel.tingroom.com