第163章

第163章atthebeginningoftheyear1806,nikolayrostovwascominghomeonleave.denisov,too,wasgoinghometovoronezh,androstovpersuadedhimtogowithhimtomoscowandtopayhimavisitthere.denisovmethiscomradeatthelastpostingstationbutone,drankthreebottlesofwinewithhim,and,inspiteofthejoltingoftheroadonthejourneytomoscow,sleptsoundlylyingatthebottomofthepostingsledgebesiderostov,whogrewmoreandmoreimpatient,astheygotnearertomoscow.

“willitcomesoon？soon？oh,theseinsufferablestreets,bunshops,streetlamps,andsledgedrivers！”thoughtrostov,whentheyhadpresentedtheirpapersatthetowngatesandweredrivingintomoscow.

“denisov,we’rehere！asleep！”hekeptsaying,flinginghiswholepersonforwardasthoughbythatpositionhehopedtohastentheprogressofthesledge.denisovmadenoresponse.

“here’sthecornerofthecross-roads,wherezaharthesledge-driverusedtostand;andhereiszahar,too,andstillthesamehorse.andhere’sthelittleshopwhereweusedtobuycakes.makehaste！now！”

“whichhouseisit？”askedthedriver.

“overthere,attheend,thebigone;howisityoudon’tseeit？that’sourhouse,”rostovkeptsaying;“that’sourhouse,ofcourse.”

“denisov！denisov！weshallbethereinaminute.”

denisovraisedhishead,clearedhisthroat,andsaidnothing.

“dmitry,”saidrostovtohisvaletonthebox,“surelythatlightishome？”

“tobesureitis;it’sthelightinyourpapa’sstudy,too.”

“they’venotgonetobedyet？eh？whatdoyouthink？”

“mindnow,don’tforgettogetmeoutmynewtunic,”addedrostov,fingeringhisnewmoustaches.

“come,geton,”heshoutedtothedriver.“anddowakeup,vasya,”hesaidtodenisov,whohadbegunnoddingagain.

“come,geton,threesilverroublesforvodka—geton！”shoutedrostov,whentheywereonlythreehousesfromtheentrance.itseemedtohimthatthehorseswerenotmoving.atlastthesledgeturnedtotherightintotheapproach,rostovsawthefamiliarcornicewiththebrokenplasteroverhead,thesteps,thelamp-post.hejumpedoutofthesledgewhileitwasmovingandranintotheporch.thehousestoodsoinhospitably,asthoughitwerenoconcernofitswhohadcomeintoit.therewasnooneintheporch.“mygod！iseverythingallright？”wonderedrostov,stoppingforamomentwithasinkingheart,andthenrunningonagainalongtheporchandupthefamiliar,crookedsteps.stillthesamedoorhandle,thedirtinessofwhichsooftenangeredthecountess,turnedinthesamehaltingfashion.inthehalltherewasasingletallowcandleburning.

oldmihailowasasleeponhisperch.

prokofy,thefootman,amansostrongthathehadliftedupacarriage,wassittingthereinhislistshoes.heglancedtowardstheopeningdoorandhisexpressionofsleepyindifferencewassuddenlytransformedintooneoffrightenedecstasy.

“mercifulheavens！theyoungcount！”hecried,recognisinghisyoungmaster.“canitbe？mydarling？”andprokofy,shakingwithemotion,madeadashtowardsthedrawing-roomdoor,probablywiththeviewofannouncinghim;butapparentlyhechangedhismind,forhecamebackandfellonhisyoungmaster’sshoulder.

“allwell？”askedrostov,pullinghishandawayfromhim.

“thankgod,yes！all,thankgod！onlyjustfinishedsupper！letmehavealookatyou,yourexcellency！”

“everythingperfectlyallright？”

“thankgod,yes,thankgod！”

rostov,completelyforgettingdenisov,flungoffhisfurcoatand,anxiousthatnooneshouldpreparethewayforhim,heranontip-toeintothebig,darkreception-hall.everythingwasthesame,thesamecard-tables,thesamecandelabrawithacoveroverit,butsomeonehadalreadyseentheyoungmaster,andhehadnotreachedthedrawing-roomwhenfromasidedoorsomethingswoopedheadlong,likeastormuponhim,andbeganingandkissinghim.asecondandathirdfiguredashedinataseconddoorandatathird;moreings,morekisses,moreoutcriesandtearsofdelight.hecouldnotdistinguishwhereandwhichwaspapa,whichwasnatasha,andwhichwaspetya.allwerescreamingandtalkingandkissinghimatthesamemoment.onlyhismotherwasnotamongthem,thatheremembered.

“andineverknew…nikolenka…mydarling！”

“hereheis…ourboy…mydarlingkolya.…isn’thechanged！wherearethecandles？tea！”

“kissmetoo！”

“dearest…andmetoo.”

sonya,natasha,petya,annamihalovna,vera,andtheoldcountwereallinghim;andtheservantsandthemaidsflockedintotheroomwithtalkandoutcries.

petyahungonhislegs.

“metoo！”hekeptshouting.

natasha,afterpullinghimdowntoherandkissinghisfaceallover,skippedbackfromhimand,keepingherholdofhisjacket,prancedlikeagoatupanddowninthesameplaceutteringshrillshrieksofdelight.

allroundhimwerelovingeyesshiningwithtearsofjoy,allroundwerelipsseekingkisses.

sonyatoo,asredascrimsonbaize,clungtohisarmandbeamedallover,gazingblissfullyathiseyesforwhichshehadsolongbeenwaiting.sonyawasjustsixteenandshewasverypretty,especiallyatthismomentofhappy,eagerexcitement.shegazedathim,unabletotakehereyesoffhim,smilingandholdingherbreath.heglancedgratefullyather;butstillhewasexpectantandlookingforsomeone,andtheoldcountesshadnotcomeinyet.andnowstepswereheardatthedoor.thestepsweresorapidthattheycouldhardlybehismother’sfootsteps.

butsheitwasinanewdressthathedidnotknow,madeduringhisabsence.allofthemlethimgo,andherantoher.whentheycametogether,shesankonhisbosom,sobbing.shecouldnotliftupherface,andonlypressedittothecoldbraidingofhishussar’sjacket.denisov,whohadcomeintotheroomunnoticedbyanyone,stoodstilllookingatthemandrubbinghiseyes.

“vassilydenisov,yourson’sfriend,”hesaid,introducinghimselftothecount,wholookedinquiringlyathim.