Война и мир

Chapter 22

           

           MávraKuzmínichnaflickedthedustofftheclavichordandclosedit,andwithadeepsighleftthedrawingroomandlockeditsmaindoor.

           Goingoutintotheyardshepausedtoconsiderwheresheshouldgonext—todrinkteaintheservants’wingwithVasílich,orintothestoreroomtoputawaywhatstilllayabout.

           Sheheardthesoundofquickfootstepsinthequietstreet.Someonestoppedatthegate,andthelatchrattledassomeonetriedtoopenit.MávraKuzmínichnawenttothegate.

           “Whodoyouwant?”

           “Thecount—CountIlyáAndréevichRostóv.”

           “Andwhoareyou?”

           “Anofficer,Ihavetoseehim,”camethereplyinapleasant,well-bredRussianvoice.

           MávraKuzmínichnaopenedthegateandanofficerofeighteen,withtheroundfaceofaRostóv,enteredtheyard.

           “Theyhavegoneaway,sir.Wentawayyesterdayatvespertime,”saidMávraKuzmínichnacordially.

           Theyoungofficerstandinginthegateway,asifhesitatingwhethertoenterornot,clickedhistongue.

           “Ah,howannoying!”hemuttered.“Ishouldhavecomeyesterday....Ah,whatapity.”

           Meanwhile,MávraKuzmínichnawasattentivelyandsympatheticallyexaminingthefamiliarRostóvfeaturesoftheyoungman’sface,histatteredcoatandtrodden-downboots.

           “Whatdidyouwanttoseethecountfor?”sheasked.

           “Ohwell...itcan’tbehelped!”saidheinatoneofvexationandplacedhishandonthegateasiftoleave.

           Heagainpausedinindecision.

           “Yousee,”hesuddenlysaid,“Iamakinsmanofthecount’sandhehasbeenverykindtome.

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