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- Стр. 558/1273
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Natásha
ate
of
everything
and
thought
she
had
never
seen
or
eaten
such
buttermilk
cakes
,
such
aromatic
jam
,
such
honey-and-nut
sweets
,
or
such
a
chicken
anywhere
.
Anísya
Fëdorovna
left
the
room
.
After
supper
,
over
their
cherry
brandy
,
Rostóv
and
"
Uncle
"
talked
of
past
and
future
hunts
,
of
Rugáy
and
Ilágin
's
dogs
,
while
Natásha
sat
upright
on
the
sofa
and
listened
with
sparkling
eyes
.
She
tried
several
times
to
wake
Pétya
that
he
might
eat
something
,
but
he
only
muttered
incoherent
words
without
waking
up
.
Natásha
felt
so
lighthearted
and
happy
in
these
novel
surroundings
that
she
only
feared
the
trap
would
come
for
her
too
soon
.
After
a
casual
pause
,
such
as
often
occurs
when
receiving
friends
for
the
first
time
in
one
's
own
house
,
"
Uncle
,
"
answering
a
thought
that
was
in
his
visitors
'
minds
,
said
:
"
This
,
you
see
,
is
how
I
am
finishing
my
days
...
Death
will
come
.
That
's
it
,
come
on
!
Nothing
will
remain
.
Then
why
harm
anyone
?
"
"
Uncle
's
"
face
was
very
significant
and
even
handsome
as
he
said
this
.
Involuntarily
Rostóv
recalled
all
the
good
he
had
heard
about
him
from
his
father
and
the
neighbors
.
Throughout
the
whole
province
"
Uncle
"
had
the
reputation
of
being
the
most
honorable
and
disinterested
of
cranks
.
They
called
him
in
to
decide
family
disputes
,
chose
him
as
executor
,
confided
secrets
to
him
,
elected
him
to
be
a
justice
and
to
other
posts
;
but
he
always
persistently
refused
public
appointments
,
passing
the
autumn
and
spring
in
the
fields
on
his
bay
gelding
,
sitting
at
home
in
winter
,
and
lying
in
his
overgrown
garden
in
summer
.
"
Why
do
n't
you
enter
the
service
,
Uncle
?
"
"
I
did
once
,
but
gave
it
up
.
I
am
not
fit
for
it
.
That
's
it
,
come
on
!
I
ca
n't
make
head
or
tail
of
it
.
That
's
for
you
--
I
have
n't
brains
enough
.
Now
,
hunting
is
another
matter
--
that
's
it
,
come
on
!
Open
the
door
,
there
!
"
he
shouted
.
"
Why
have
you
shut
it
?
"
The
door
at
the
end
of
the
passage
led
to
the
huntsmen
's
room
,
as
they
called
the
room
for
the
hunt
servants
.
There
was
a
rapid
patter
of
bare
feet
,
and
an
unseen
hand
opened
the
door
into
the
huntsmen
's
room
,
from
which
came
the
clear
sounds
of
a
balaláyka
on
which
someone
,
who
was
evidently
a
master
of
the
art
,
was
playing
.
Natásha
had
been
listening
to
those
strains
for
some
time
and
now
went
out
into
the
passage
to
hear
better
.
"
That
's
Mítka
,
my
coachman
...
I
have
got
him
a
good
balaláyka
.
I
'm
fond
of
it
,
"
said
"
Uncle
.
"
