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e word “possible。” “That’s how we old hussars look at it； that’s all we have to say。 And how do you look at it； young man and young hussar？” he added； addressing Nikolay； who； catching that it was the war they were discussing； had dropped his conversation with Julie； and was all eyes and all ears； intent on the colonel。
“I perfectly agree with you；” answered Nikolay； growing hot all over； twisting his plate round； and changing the places of the glasses with a face as desperate and determined as though he were exposed to great danger at that actual moment。 “I am convinced that the Russians must die or conquer；” he said。 He was himself； like the rest of the party； conscious after the words were uttered that he had spoken with an enthusiasm and fervour out of keeping with the occasion； and so he was embarrassed。
“That was very fine； what you just said；” Julie sitting beside him said breathlessly。 Sonya trembled all over and crimsoned to her ears； and behind her ears； and down her neck and shoulders； while Nikolay was speaking。 Pierre listened to the colonel’s remarks； and nodded his head approvingly。
“That’s capital；” said he。
“You’re a true hussar； young man；” the colonel shouted； thumping on the table again。
“What are you making such a noise about over there？” Marya Dmitryevna’s bass voice was suddenly heard asking across the table。 “What are you thumping the table for？” she addressed the colonel。 “Whom are you so hot against？ You imagine； I suppose； that the French are before you？”
“I speak the truth；” said the hussar； smiling。
“It’s all about the war；” the count shouted across the table。 “My son’s going； you see； Marya Dmitryevna； my son’s going。”
“And I’ve four sons in the army； but I don’t grieve。 All’s in God’s hands； one may die in one’s bed； and in battle God may spare；” Marya Dmitryevna’s deep voice boomed back； speaking without the slightest effort from the further end of the table。
“That’s true。”
And the conversation concentrated into two groups again； one at the ladies’ end； and one at the men’s。
“You don’t dare to ask！” said her little brother to Natasha； “and you won’t ask！”
“I will ask；” answered Natasha。 Her face suddenly glowed； expressing a desperate and mirthful resolution。 She rose in her seat； her eyes inviting Pierre to listen； and addressed her mother。
“Mamma！” her childish contralto rang out over the table。
“What is it？” the countess asked in dismay； but seeing from her daughter’s face that it was mischief； she shook her hand at her sternly； with a threatening and forbidding movement of her head。
All conversation was hushed。
“Mamma！ what pudding will there be？” Natasha’s little voice rang out still more resolutely and deliberately。
The countess tried to frown； but could not。 Marya Dmitryevna shook her fat finger。
“Cossack！” she said menacingly。
Most of the guests looked at the parents； not knowing how they were to take this sally。
“I’ll give it to you；” said the countess。
“Mamma！ what pudding will it be？” Natasha cried； with bold and saucy gaiety； feeling sure that her prank would be taken in the right spirit。 Sonya and fat little Petya were hiding their giggles。 “You see I did ask；” Natasha whispered to her little brother and Pierre； at whom she glanced again。
“Ice…pudding； only you are not to have any；” said Marya Dmitryevna。 Natasha saw there was nothing to be afraid of； and so she was not frightened at Marya Dmitryevna even。
“Marya Dmitryevna！ what sort of ice…pudding？ I don’t like ice cream。”
“Carrot…ices。”
“No； what sort； Marya Dmitryevna； what sort？” she almost shrieked。 “I want to know。” Marya Dmitryevna and the countess burst out laughing； and all the party followed their example。 They all laughed； not at Marya Dmitryevna’s answer； but at the irrepressible boldness and smartness of the little girl； who had the pluck and the wit to tackle Marya Dmitryevna in this fashion。
Natasha only desisted when she had been told it was to be pineapple ice。 Before the ices； champagne was passed round。 Again the band struck up； the count kissed the countess； and the guests getting up from the table congratulated the countess； and clinked glasses across the table with the count； the children； and one another。 Again the waiters darted about； chairs grated on the floor； and in the same order； but with flushed faces； the guests returned to the drawing…room and the count’s study。
Chapter 17
THE CARD…TABLES were opened； parties were made up for boston； and the count’s guests settled themselves in the two drawing…rooms； the divan…room； and the library。
The count； holding his cards in a fan； with some difficulty kept himself from dropping into his customary after…dinner nap； and laughed at everything。 The young people； at the countess’s suggestion； gathered about the clavichord and the harp。 Julie was first pressed by every one to perform； and played a piece with variations on the harp。 Then she joined the other young ladies in begging Natasha and Nikolay； who were noted for their musical talents； to sing something。 Natasha； who was treated by every one as though she were grown…up； was visibly very proud of it； and at the same time made shy by it。
“What are we to sing？” she asked。
“The ‘Spring；’ ” answered Nikolay。
“Well； then； let’s make haste。 Boris； come here；” said Natasha。 “But where’s Sonya？” She looked round； and seeing that her friend was not in the room； she ran off to find her。
After running to Sonya’s room； and not finding her there； Natasha ran to the nursery： Sonya was not there either。 Natasha knew that she must be on the chest in the corridor。 The chest in the corridor was the scene of the woes of the younger feminine generation of the house of Rostov。 Yes； Sonya was on the chest； lying face downwards； crushing her gossamer pink frock on their old nurse’s dirty striped feather…bed。 Her face hidden in her fingers； she was sobbing； and her little bare shoulders were heaving。 Natasha’s birthday face that had been festive and excited all day； changed at once； her eyes wore a fixed look； then her broad neck quivered； and the corners of her lips drooped。
“Sonya！ what is it？ … what’s the matter with you？ Oo…oo…oo！ …” and Natasha； letting her big mouth drop open and becoming quite ugly； wailed like a baby； not knowing why； simply because Sonya was crying。 Sonya tried to lift up her head； tried to answer； but could not； and buried her face more than ever。 Natasha cried； sitting on the edge of the blue feather…bed and hugging her friend。 Making an effort； Sonya got up； began to dry her tears and to talk。
“Nikolinka’s going away in a week； his … paper … has come … he told me himself。 … But still I shouldn’t cry …” （she showed a sheet of paper she was holding in her hand； on it were verses written by Nikolay）。 “I shouldn’t have cried； but you can’t … no one can understand … what a soul he has。”
And again she fell to weeping at the thought of how noble his soul was。
“It’s all right for you … I’m not envious … I love you and Boris too；” she said； controlling herself a little； “he’s so nice … there are no difficulties in your way。 But Nikolay’s my cousi