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sha felt so gay； so well content in these new surroundings； that her only fear was that the trap would come too soon for her。 After a silence had chanced to fall upon them； as almost always happens when any one receives friends for the first time in his own house； the uncle said； in response to the thought in his guests’ minds：
“Yes； so you see how I am finishing my days。… One dies—forward； quick march！—nothing is left。 So why sin！”
The uncle’s face was full of significance and even beauty as he said this。 Rostov could not help recalling as he spoke all the good things he had heard said by his father and the neighbours about him。 Through the whole district the uncle had the reputation of being a most generous and disinterested eccentric。 He was asked to arbitrate in family quarrels； he was chosen executor； secrets were entrusted to him； he was elected a justice； and asked to fill other similar posts； but he had always persisted in refusing all public appointments； spending the autumn and spring in the fields on his bay horse； the winter sitting at home； and the summer lying in his overgrown garden。
“Why don’t you enter the service； uncle？”
“I have been in the service； but I flung it up。 I’m not fit for it。 I can’t make anything of it。 That’s your affair。 I haven’t the wit for it。 The chase； now； is a very different matter； there it’s all forward and quick march！ Open the door there！” he shouted。 “Why have you shut it？” A door at the end of the corridor （which word the uncle always pronounced collidor； like a peasant） led to the huntsmen’s room； as the sitting…room for the huntsmen was called。 There was a rapid patter of bare feet； and an unseen hand opened the door into the huntsmen’s room。 They could then hear distinctly from the corridor the sounds of the balalaika； unmistakably played by a master hand。 Natasha had been for some time listening； and now she went out into the corridor to hear the music more clearly。
“That’s Mitka； my coachman … I bought him a good balalaika； I’m fond of it；” said the uncle。 It was his custom to get Mitka to play the balalaika in the men’s room when he came home from the chase。 He was fond of hearing that instrument。
“How well he plays！ It’s really very nice；” said Nikolay； with a certain unconscious superciliousness in his tone； as though he were ashamed to admit he liked this music。
“Very nice？” Natasha said reproachfully； feeling the tone in which her brother had spoken。 “It’s not nice； but splendid； really！” Just as the uncle’s mushrooms and honey and liqueurs had seemed to her the most delicious in the world； this playing struck her at that moment as the very acme of musical expression。
“More； more； please；” said Natasha in the doorway； as soon as the balalaika ceased。 Mitka tuned up and began again gallantly twanging away at “My Lady；” with shakes and flourishes。 The uncle sat listening with his head on one side； and a slight smile。 The air of “My Lady” was repeated a hundred times over。 Several times the balalaika was tuned up and the same notes were thrummed again； but the audience did not weary of it； and still longed to hear it again and again。 Anisya Fyodorovna came in and stood with her portly person leaning against the doorpost。
“You are pleased to listen！” she said to Natasha； with a smile extra…ordinarily like the uncle’s smile。 “He does play nicely；” she said。
“That part he never plays right；” the uncle said suddenly with a vigorous gesture。 “It ought to be taken more at a run—forward； quick march！ … to be played lightly。”
“Why； can you do it？” asked Natasha。
The uncle smiled； and did not answer。
“Just you look； Anisyushka； whether the strings are all right on the guitar； eh？ It’s a long while since I have handled it。 I had quite given it up！”
Anisya Fyodorovna went very readily with her light step to do her master’s bidding； and brought him his guitar。 Without looking at any one the uncle blew the dust off it； tapped on the case with his bony fingers； tuned it； and settled himself in a low chair。 Arching his left elbow with a rather theatrical gesture； he held the guitar above the finger…board； and winking at Anisya Fyodorovna； he played； not the first notes of “My Lady；” but a single pure musical chord； and then smoothly； quietly； but confidently began playing in very slow time the well…known song； “As along the high road。” The air of the song thrilled in Nikolay’s and Natasha’s hearts in time； in tune with it； with the same sober gaiety—the same gaiety as was manifest in the whole personality of Anisya Fyodorovna。 Anisya Fyodorovna flushed； and hiding her face in her kerchief； went laughing out of the room。 The uncle still went on playing the song carefully； correctly； and vigorously； gazing with a transformed； inspired face at the spot where Anisya Fyodorovna had stood。 Laughter came gradually into his face on one side under his grey moustache； and it grew stronger as the song went on； as the time quickened； and breaks came after a flourish。
“Splendid； splendid； uncle！ Again； again！” cried Natasha； as soon as he had finished。 She jumped up from her place and kissed and hugged the uncle。 “Nikolenka； Nikolenka！” she said； looking round at her brother as though to ask； “What do you say to it？”
Nikolay； too； was much pleased by the uncle’s playing。 He played the song a second time。 The smiling face of Anisya Fyodorovna appeared again in the doorway and other faces behind her。… “For the water from the well； a maiden calls to him to stay！” played the uncle。 He made another dexterous flourish and broke off； twitching his shoulders。
“Oh； oh； uncle darling！” wailed Natasha； in a voice as imploring as though her life depended on it。 The uncle got up； and there seemed to be two men in him at that moment—one smiled seriously at the antics of the merry player； while the merry player na？vely and carefully executed the steps preliminary to the dance。
“Come； little niece！” cried the uncle； waving to Natasha the hand that had struck the last chord。
Natasha flung off the shawl that had been wrapped round her； ran forward facing the uncle； and setting her arms akimbo； made the movements of her shoulder and waist。
Where； how； when had this young countess； educated by a French émigrée； sucked in with the Russian air she breathed the spirit of that dance？ Where had she picked up these movements which the pas de chale would； one might have thought； long ago have eradicated？ But the spirit； the motions were those inimitable； unteachable； Russian gestures the uncle had hoped for from her。 As soon as she stood up； and smiled that triumphant； proud smile of sly gaiety； the dread that had come on Nikolay and all the spectators at the first moment； the dread that she would not dance it well； was at an end and they were already admiring her。
She danced the dance well； so well indeed； so perfectly； that Anisya Fyodorovna； who handed her at once the kerchief she needed in the dance； had tears in her eyes； though she laughed as she watched that slender； graceful little countess； reared in silk and velvet； belonging to another world than hers； who was yet able to understand all that was in Anisya and her fathe