战争与和平(上)-第79部分

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he　horses　were　not　moving。　At　last　the　sledge　turned　to　the　right　into　the　approach；　Rostov　saw　the　familiar　cornice　with　the　broken　plaster　overhead；　the　steps；　the　lamp…post。　He　jumped　out　of　the　sledge　while　it　was　moving　and　ran　into　the　porch。　The　house　stood　so　inhospitably；　as　though　it　were　no　concern　of　its　who　had　come　into　it。　There　was　no　one　in　the　porch。　“My　God！　is　everything　all　right？”　wondered　Rostov；　stopping　for　a　moment　with　a　sinking　heart；　and　then　running　on　again　along　the　porch　and　up　the　familiar；　crooked　steps。　Still　the　same　door　handle；　the　dirtiness　of　which　so　often　angered　the　countess；　turned　in　the　same　halting　fashion。　In　the　hall　there　was　a　single　tallow　candle　burning。
Old　Mihailo　was　asleep　on　his　perch。
Prokofy；　the　footman；　a　man　so　strong　that　he　had　lifted　up　a　carriage；　was　sitting　there　in　his　list　shoes。　He　glanced　towards　the　opening　door　and　his　expression　of　sleepy　indifference　was　suddenly　transformed　into　one　of　frightened　ecstasy。
“Merciful　Heavens！　The　young　count！”　he　cried；　recognising　his　young　master。　“Can　it　be？　my　darling？”　And　Prokofy；　shaking　with　emotion；　made　a　dash　towards　the　drawing…room　door；　probably　with　the　view　of　announcing　him；　but　apparently　he　changed　his　mind；　for　he　came　back　and　fell　on　his　young　master’s　shoulder。
“All　well？”　asked　Rostov；　pulling　his　hand　away　from　him。
“Thank　God；　yes！　All；　thank　God！　Only　just　finished　supper！　Let　me　have　a　look　at　you；　your　excellency！”
“Everything　perfectly　all　right？”
“Thank　God；　yes；　thank　God！”
Rostov；　completely　forgetting　Denisov；　flung　off　his　fur　coat　and；　anxious　that　no　one　should　prepare　the　way　for　him；　he　ran　on　tip…toe　into　the　big；　dark　reception…hall。　Everything　was　the　same；　the　same　card…tables；　the　same　candelabra　with　a　cover　over　it；　but　some　one　had　already　seen　the　young　master；　and　he　had　not　reached　the　drawing…room　when　from　a　side　door　something　swooped　headlong；　like　a　storm　upon　him；　and　began　hugging　and　kissing　him。　A　second　and　a　third　figure　dashed　in　at　a　second　door　and　at　a　third；　more　huggings；　more　kisses；　more　outcries　and　tears　of　delight。　He　could　not　distinguish　where　and　which　was　papa；　which　was　Natasha；　and　which　was　Petya。　All　were　screaming　and　talking　and　kissing　him　at　the　same　moment。　Only　his　mother　was　not　among　them；　that　he　remembered。
“And　I　never　knew…　Nikolenka　…　my　darling！”
“Here　he　is　…　our　boy　…　my　darling　Kolya。…　Isn’t　he　changed！　Where　are　the　candles？　Tea！”
“Kiss　me　too！”
“Dearest　…　and　me　too。”
Sonya；　Natasha；　Petya；　Anna　Mihalovna；　Vera；　and　the　old　count　were　all　hugging　him；　and　the　servants　and　the　maids　flocked　into　the　room　with　talk　and　outcries。
Petya　hung　on　his　legs。
“Me　too！”　he　kept　shouting。
Natasha；　after　pulling　him　down　to　her　and　kissing　his　face　all　over；　skipped　back　from　him　and；　keeping　her　hold　of　his　jacket；　pranced　like　a　goat　up　and　down　in　the　same　place　uttering　shrill　shrieks　of　delight。
All　round　him　were　loving　eyes　shining　with　tears　of　joy；　all　round　were　lips　seeking　kisses。
Sonya　too；　as　red　as　crimson　baize；　clung　to　his　arm　and　beamed　all　over；　gazing　blissfully　at　his　eyes　for　which　she　had　so　long　been　waiting。　Sonya　was　just　sixteen　and　she　was　very　pretty；　especially　at　this　moment　of　happy；　eager　excitement。　She　gazed　at　him；　unable　to　take　her　eyes　off　him；　smiling　and　holding　her　breath。　He　glanced　gratefully　at　her；　but　still　he　was　expectant　and　looking　for　some　one；　and　the　old　countess　had　not　come　in　yet。　And　now　steps　were　heard　at　the　door。　The　steps　were　so　rapid　that　they　could　hardly　be　his　mother’s　footsteps。
But　she　it　was　in　a　new　dress　that　he　did　not　know；　made　during　his　absence。　All　of　them　let　him　go；　and　he　ran　to　her。　When　they　came　together；　she　sank　on　his　bosom；　sobbing。　She　could　not　lift　up　her　face；　and　only　pressed　it　to　the　cold　braiding　of　his　hussar’s　jacket。　Denisov；　who　had　come　into　the　room　unnoticed　by　any　one；　stood　still　looking　at　them　and　rubbing　his　eyes。
“Vassily　Denisov；　your　son’s　friend；”　he　said；　introducing　himself　to　the　count；　who　looked　inquiringly　at　him。
“Very　welcome。　I　know　you；　I　know　you；”　said　the　count；　kissing　and　embracing　Denisov。　“Nikolenka　wrote　to　us　…　Natasha；　Vera；　here　he　is；　Denisov。”
The　same　happy；　ecstatic　faces　turned　to　the　tousled　figure　of　Denisov　and　surrounded　him。
“Darling　Denisov；”　squealed　Natasha；　and；　beside　herself　with　delight　she　darted　up　to　him；　hugging　and　kissing　him。　Every　one　was　disconcerted　by　Natasha’s　behaviour。　Denisov　too　reddened。　but　he　smiled；　took　Natasha’s　hand　and　kissed　it。
Denisov　was　conducted　to　the　room　assigned　him；　while　the　Rostovs　all　gathered　about　Nikolenka　in　the　divan…room。
The　old　countess　sat　beside　him；　keeping　tight　hold　of　his　hand；　which　she　was　every　minute　kissing。　The　others　thronged　round　them；　gloating　over　every　movement；　every　glance；　every　word　he　uttered；　and　never　taking　their　enthusiastic　and　loving　eyes　off　him。　His　brother　and　sisters　quarrelled　and　snatched　from　one　another　the　place　nearest　him　and　disputed　over　which　was　to　bring　him　tea；　a　handkerchief；　a　pipe。
Rostov　was　very　happy　in　the　love　they　showed　him。　But　the　first　minute　of　meeting　them　had　been　so　blissful　that　his　happiness　now　seemed　a　little　thing；　and　he　kept　expecting　something　more　and　more　and　more。
Next　morning　after　his　journey　he　slept　on　till　ten　o’clock。
The　adjoining　room　was　littered　with　swords；　bags；　sabretaches；　open　trunks；　and　dirty　boots。　Two　pairs　of　cleaned　boots　with　spurs　had　just　been　stood　against　the　wall。　The　servants　brought　in　wash…hand　basins；　hot　water　for　shaving；　and　their　clothes　well　brushed。　The　room　was　full　of　a　masculine　odour　and　reeked　of　tobacco。
“Hi；　Grishka；　a　pipe！”　shouted　the　husky　voice　of　Vaska　Denisov。　“Rostov；　get　up！”
Rostov；　rubbing　his　eyelids　that　seemed　glued　together；　lifted　his　tousled　head　from　the　warm　pillow。
“Why；　is　it　late？”
“It　is　late；　nearly　ten；”　answered　Natasha’s　voice；　and　in　the　next　room　they　heard　the　rustle　of　starched　skirts　and　girlish　laughter。　The　door　was　opened　a　crack；　and　there　was　a　glimpse　of　something　blue；　of　ribbons；　black　hair　and　merry　faces。　Natasha　with　Sonya　and　Petya　had　come　to　see　if　he　were　not　getting　up。
“Nikolenka；　get　up！”　Natasha’s　voice　was　heard　again　at　the　door。
“At　once！”　Meanwhile　in　the　outer　room　Petya　had　caught　sight　of　the　swords　and　seized　upon　them　with　the　rapture　small　boys　feel　at　the　sight　of　a　soldier　brother；　and　regardless　of　its　not　being　the　proper　thing　for　his　sisters　to　see　the　young　men　undressed；　he　opened　the　bedroom　door。
“Is　this　your　sword？”　he　shouted。
The　girls　skipped　away。　Denisov　hid　his　hairy　legs　under　the　bed…clothes；　looking　with　a　scared　face　to　his　comrade　for　assistance。　The　door　admitted　Petya　and　closed　after　him。　A　giggle　was　heard　from　outside。
“Nikolenka；　come　out　in　your　dressing…gown；”　cried　Natasha’s　voice。
“Is　this　your　sword？”　asked　Petya；　“or　is　it　yours？”　he　turned　with　deferential　respect　to　the　swarthy；　whiskered　Denisov。
Rostov　made　haste　to　get　on　his　shoes　and　stockings；　put　on　his　dressing…gown　and　went　out。　Natasha　had　put　on　one　spurred　boot　and　was　just　getting　into　the　other。　Sonya　was　“making　cheeses；”　and　had　just　whirled　her　skirt　into　a　balloon　and　was　ducking　down；　when　he　came　in。　They　were　dressed　alike　in　new　blue　frocks；　both　fresh；　rosy；　and　good…humoured。　Sonya　ran　away；　but　Natasha；　taking　her　brother’s　arm；　led　him　into　the　divan…room；　and　a　conversation　began　between　them。　They　had　not　time　to　ask　and　answer　all　the　questions　about　the　thousand　trifling　matters　which　could　only　be　of　interest　to　them。　Natasha　laughed　at　every　word　he　said　and　at　every　word　she　said；　not　because　what　they　said　was　amusing；　but　because　she　was　in　high　spirits　and　unable　to　contain　her　joy；　which　brimmed　over　in　laughter。
“Ah；　isn’t　it　nice；　isn’t　it　splendid！”　she　kept　saying　every　moment。　Under　the　influence　of　the　warm　sunshine　of　love；　Rostov　felt　that　for　the　first　time　for　a　year　and　a　half　his　soul　and　his　face　were　expanding　in　that　childish　smile；　he　had　not　once　smiled　since　he　left　home。
“No；　I　say；”　she　said；　“you’re　quite　a　man　now；　eh？　I’m　awfully　glad　you’re　my　brother。”　She　touched　his　moustache。　“I　do　want　to　know　what　sort　of　creatures　you　men　are。　Just　like　us？　No。”
“Why　did　Sonya　run　away？”　asked　Rostov。
“Oh；　there’s　a　lot　to　say　about　that！　How　are　you　going　to　speak　to　Sonya？　Shall　you　call　her　‘thou’　or　‘you’？”
“As　it　happens；”　said　Rostov。
“Call　her　‘you；’　please；　I’ll　tell　you　why　afterwards。”
“But　why？”
“Well；　I’ll　tell　you　now。　You　know　that　Sonya’s　my　friend；　such　a　friend　that　I　burnt　my　arm　for　her　sake。　Here；　look。”　She　pulled　up　her　muslin　sleeve　and　showed　him　on　her　long；　thin；　soft　arm　above　the　elbow　near　the　shoulder　（on　the　part　which　is　covered　even　in　a　ball…dress）　a　red　mark。
“I　burnt　that　to　show　her　my　love。　I　simply　heated　a　ruler　in　the　fire　and　pressed　it　on　it。”
Sitting　in　his　old　schoolroom　on　the　sofa　with　little　cushions　on　the　arms；　and　looking　into　Natasha’s　wildly　eager　eyes；　Rostov　was　carried　back　into　that　world　of　home　and　childhood　which　had　no　meaning　for　any　one　else　but　gave　him　some　of　the　greatest　pleasures　in　his　life。　And　burning　one’s　arm　with　a　ruler　as　a　proof　of　love　did　not　strike　him　as　pointless；　he　understood　it；　and　was　not　surprised　at　it。
“Well；　is　that　all？”　he　asked。
“Well；　we　are　such　friends；　such　great　friends！　That’s　nonsense—the　ruler；　but　we　are　friends　for　ever。　If　she　once　loves　any　one；　it’s　for　ever；　I　don’t　understand　that；　I　forget　so　quickly。”
“Well；　what　then？”
“Yes；　so　she　loves　me　and　you。”　Natasha　suddenly　flushed。　“Well；　you　remember　before　you　went　away　…　She　says　you　are　to　forget　it　all…　She　said；　I　shall　always　love　him；　but　let　him　be　free。　That　really　is　splendid；　noble！　Yes；　yes；　very　noble？　Yes？”　Natasha　asked　with　such　seriousness　and　emotion　that　it　was　clear　that　what　she　was　saying　now　she　had　talked　of　before　with　tears。　Rostov　thought　a　little。
“I　never　take　back　my　word；”　he　said。　“And　besides；　Sonya’s　so　charming　that　who　would　be　such　a　fool　as　to　renounce　his　own　happine