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from life but peace； and that peace she could find only in death。 But until death came to her she had to go on living— that is； using her vital forces。 There was in the highest degree noticeable in her what may be observed in very small children and in very old people。 No external aim could be seen in her existence； all that could be seen was the need to exercise her various capacities and propensities。 She had to eat； to sleep； to think； to talk； to weep； to work； to get angry； and so on； simply because she had a stomach； a brain； muscles； nerves； and spleen。 All this she did； not at the promptings of any external motive； as people do in the full vigour of life； when the aim towards which they strive screens from our view that other aim of exercising their powers。 She only talked because she needed to exercise her lungs and her tongue。 She cried like a child； because she needed the physical relief of tears； and so on。 What for people in their full vigour is a motive； with her was obviously a pretext。
Thus in the morning； especially if she had eaten anything too rich the night before； she sought an occasion for anger； and pitched on the first excuse—the deafness of Madame Byelov。
From the other end of the room she would begin to say something to her in a low voice。
‘‘I fancy it is warmer to…day； my dear；’’ she would say in a whisper。 And when Madame Byelov replied： ‘‘To be sure； they have come；’’ she would mutter angrily： ‘‘Mercy on us； how deaf and stupid she is！’’
Another excuse was her snuff； which she fancied either too dry； or too moist； or badly pounded。 After these outbursts of irritability； a bilious hue came into her face。 And her maids knew by infallible tokens when Madame Byelov would be deaf again； and when her snuff would again be damp； and her face would again be yellow。 Just as she had to exercise her spleen； she had sometimes to exercise her remaining faculties； and for thought the pretext was patience。 When she wanted to cry； the subject of her tears was the late count。 When she needed excitement； the subject was Nikolay and anxiety about his health。 When she wanted to say something spiteful； the pretext was the Countess Marya。 When she required exercise for her organs of speech—this was usually about seven o’clock； after she had had her after…dinner rest in a darkened room— then the pretext was found in repetition of anecdotes； always the same； and always to the same listeners。
The old countess’s condition was understood by all the household； though no one ever spoke of it； and every possible effort was made by every one to satisfy her requirements。 Only rarely a mournful half…smile passed between Nikolay； Pierre； Natasha； and Countess Marya that betrayed their comprehension of her condition。
But those glances said something else besides。 They said that she had done her work in life already； that she was not all here in what was seen in her now； that they would all be the same； and that they were glad to give way to her； to restrain themselves for the sake of this poor creature； once so dear； once as full of life as they。 Memento mori； said those glances。
Only quite heartless and stupid people and little children failed to understand this； and held themselves aloof from her。
Chapter 13
WHEN PIERRE AND HIS WIFE came into the drawing…room； the countess happened to be in her customary condition of needing the mental exercise of a game of patience； and therefore； although from habit she uttered the words； she always repeated on the return of Pierre or her son after absence： ‘‘It was high time； high time； my dear boy； we have been expecting you a long while。 Well； thank God； you are here。’’ And on the presents being given her； pronounced another stock phrase： ‘‘It’s not the gift that is precious； my dear。… Thank you for thinking of an old woman like me。 …’’ It was evident that Pierre’s entrance at that moment was unwelcome； because it interrupted her in dealing her cards。 She finished her game of patience； and only then gave her attention to the presents。 The presents for her consisted of a card…case of fine workmanship； a bright blue Sèvres cup with a lid and a picture of shepherdesses on it； and a gold snuff…box with the count’s portrait on it； which Pierre had had executed by a miniature…painter in Petersburg。 The countess had long wished to have this； but just now she had no inclination to weep； and so she looked unconcernedly at the portrait； and took more notice of the card…case。
‘‘Thank you； my dear； you are a comfort to me；’’ she said； as she always did。 ‘‘But best of all； you have brought yourself back。 It has been beyond everything； you must really scold your wife。 She is like one possessed without you。 She sees nothing； thinks of nothing；’’ she said as usual。 ‘‘Look； Anna Timofyevna；’’ she added； ‘‘what a card…case my son has brought us。’’
Madame Byelov admired the present； and was enchanted with the dress material。
Pierre； Natasha； Nikolay； Countess Marya； and Denisov had a great deal they wanted to talk about； which was not talked of before the old countess； not because anything was concealed from her； but simply because she had dropped so out of things； that if they had begun to talk freely before her they would have had to answer so many questions put by her at random； and to repeat so many things that had been repeated to her so many times already； to tell her that this person was dead and that person was married； which she could never remember。 Yet they sat as usual at tea in the drawing…room； and Pierre answered the countess’s quite superfluous questions； which were of no interest even to her； and told her that Prince Vassily was looking older； and that Countess Marya Alexeyevna sent her kind regards and remembrances； etc。
Such conversation； of no interest to any one； but inevitable； was kept up all tea…time。 All the grown…up members of the family were gathered about the round tea…table with the samovar； at which Sonya presided。 The children with their tutors and governesses had already had tea； and their voices could be heard in the next room。 At tea every one sat in his own habitual place。 Nikolay sat by the stove at a little table apart； where his tea was handed him。 An old terrier bitch； with a perfectly grey face； Milka； the daughter of the first Milka； lay on a chair beside him。 Denisov； with streaks of grey in his curly hair； moustaches； and whiskers； wearing his general’s coat unbuttoned； sat beside Countess Marya。 Pierre was sitting between his wife and the old countess。 He was telling what he knew might interest the old lady and be intelligible to her。 He talked of external social events and of the persons who had once made up the circle of the old countess’s contemporaries； and had once been a real living circle of people； but were now for the most part scattered about the world； and； like her； living out their remnant of life； gleaning up the stray ears of what they had sown in life。 But they； these contemporaries； seemed to the old countess to make up the only real world that was worth considering。 By Pierre’s eagerness； Natasha saw that his visit had been an interesting one； that he was longing to tell them about it； b