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Silence ensued. The countess looked at her callers, smiling
affably, but not concealing the fact that she would not be distressed
if they now rose and took their leave. The visitor's daughter
was already smoothing down her dress with an inquiring look at
her mother, when suddenly from the next room were heard the footsteps
of boys and girls running to the door and the noise of a chair
falling over, and a girl of thirteen, hiding something in the
folds of her short muslin frock, darted in and stopped short in
the middle of the room. It was evident that she had not intended
her flight to bring her so far. Behind her in the doorway appeared
a student with a crimson coat collar, an officer of the Guards,
a girl of fifteen, and a plump rosy-faced boy in a short jacket.
The count jumped up and, swaying from side to side, spread
his arms wide and threw them round the little girl who had run
in.
"Ah, here she is!" he exclaimed laughing. "My
pet, whose name day it is. My dear pet!"
"Ma chere, there is a time for everything," said
the countess with feigned severity. "You spoil her, Ilya,"
she added, turning to her husband.
"How do you do, my dear? I wish you many happy returns
of your name day," said the visitor. "What a charming
child," she added, addressing the mother.
This black-eyed, wide-mouthed girl, not pretty but full of
life- with childish bare shoulders which after her run heaved
and shook her bodice, with black curls tossed backward, thin bare
arms, little legs in lace-frilled drawers, and feet in low slippers-
was just at that charming age when a girl is no longer a child,
though the child is not yet a young woman. Escaping from her father
she ran to hide her flushed face in the lace of her mother's mantilla-
not paying the least attention to her severe remark- and began
to laugh. She laughed, and in fragmentary sentences tried to explain
about a doll which she produced from the folds of her frock.
"Do you see?... My doll... Mimi... You see..." was
all Natasha managed to utter (to her everything seemed funny).
She leaned against her mother and burst into such a loud, ringing
fit of laughter that even the prim visitor could not help joining
in.
"Now then, go away and take your monstrosity with you,"
said the mother, pushing away her daughter with pretended sternness,
and turning to the visitor she added: "She is my youngest
girl."
Natasha, raising her face for a moment from her mother's mantilla,
glanced up at her through tears of laughter, and again hid her
face.
The visitor, compelled to look on at this family scene, thought
it necessary to take some part in it.
"Tell me, my dear," said she to Natasha, "is
Mimi a relation of yours? A daughter, I suppose?"
Natasha did not like the visitor's tone of condescension to
childish things. She did not reply, but looked at her seriously.
Meanwhile the younger generation: Boris, the officer, Anna
Mikhaylovna's son; Nicholas, the undergraduate, the count's eldest
son; Sonya, the count's fifteen-year-old niece, and little Petya,
his youngest boy, had all settled down in the drawing room and
were obviously trying to restrain within the bounds of decorum
the excitement and mirth that shone in all their faces. Evidently
in the back rooms, from which they had dashed out so impetuously,
the conversation had been more amusing than the drawing-room talk
of society scandals, the weather, and Countess Apraksina. Now
and then they glanced at one another, hardly able to suppress
their laughter.
The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from
childhood, were of the same age and both handsome fellows, though
not alike. Boris was tall and fair, and his calm and handsome
face had regular, delicate features. Nicholas was short with curly
hair and an open expression. Dark hairs were already showing on
his upper lip, and his whole face expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm.
Nicholas blushed when he entered the drawing room. He evidently
tried to find something to say, but failed. Boris on the contrary
at once found his footing, and related quietly and humorously
how he had know that doll Mimi when she was still quite a young
lady, before her nose was broken; how she had aged during the
five years he had known her, and how her head had cracked right
across the skull. Having said this he glanced at Natasha. She
turned away from him and glanced at her younger brother, who was
screwing up his eyes and shaking with suppressed laughter, and
unable to control herself any longer, she jumped up and rushed
from the room as fast as her nimble little feet would carry her.
Boris did not laugh.
"You were meaning to go out, weren't you, Mamma? Do you
want the carriage?" he asked his mother with a smile.
"Yes, yes, go and tell them to get it ready," she
answered, returning his smile.
Boris quietly left the room and went in search of Natasha.
The plump boy ran after them angrily, as if vexed that their program
had been disturbed.
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