He seemed to have grown thinner since the morning; his eyes seemed larger than usual when he glanced round and noticed Pierre.

He went up to him, took his hand (a thing he never used to do), and drew it downwards as if wishing to ascertain whether it was firmly fixed on.
"Courage, courage, my friend! He has asked to see you.

That is well!" and he turned to go.
But Pierre thought it necessary to ask: "How is..." and hesitated, not knowing whether it would be proper to call the dying man "the count," yet ashamed to call him "father." "He had another stroke about half an hour ago.

Courage, my friend..." Pierre's mind was in such a confused state that the word "stroke" suggested to him a blow from something.

He looked at Prince Vasili in perplexity, and only later grasped that a stroke was an attack of illness.