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"
And
I
should
be
ashamed
to
write
to
Borís
.
I
'm
not
going
to
.
"
"
Why
should
you
be
ashamed
?
"
"
Well
,
I
do
n't
know
.
It
's
awkward
and
would
make
me
ashamed
.
"
"
And
I
know
why
she
'd
be
ashamed
,
"
said
Pétya
,
offended
by
Natásha
's
previous
remark
.
"
It
's
because
she
was
in
love
with
that
fat
one
in
spectacles
"
(
that
was
how
Pétya
described
his
namesake
,
the
new
Count
Bezúkhov
)
"
and
now
she
's
in
love
with
that
singer
"
(
he
meant
Natásha
's
Italian
singing
master
)
,
"
that
's
why
she
's
ashamed
!
"
"
Pétya
,
you
're
stupid
!
"
said
Natásha
.
"
Not
more
stupid
than
you
,
madam
,
"
said
the
nine-year-old
Pétya
,
with
the
air
of
an
old
brigadier
.
The
countess
had
been
prepared
by
Anna
Mikháylovna
's
hints
at
dinner
.
On
retiring
to
her
own
room
,
she
sat
in
an
armchair
,
her
eyes
fixed
on
a
miniature
portrait
of
her
son
on
the
lid
of
a
snuffbox
,
while
the
tears
kept
coming
into
her
eyes
.
Anna
Mikháylovna
,
with
the
letter
,
came
on
tiptoe
to
the
countess
'
door
and
paused
.
"
Do
n't
come
in
,
"
she
said
to
the
old
count
who
was
following
her
.
"
Come
later
.
"
And
she
went
in
,
closing
the
door
behind
her
.
The
count
put
his
ear
to
the
keyhole
and
listened
.
At
first
he
heard
the
sound
of
indifferent
voices
,
then
Anna
Mikháylovna
's
voice
alone
in
a
long
speech
,
then
a
cry
,
then
silence
,
then
both
voices
together
with
glad
intonations
,
and
then
footsteps
.
Anna
Mikháylovna
opened
the
door
.
