‘0 . . . 0 . . . aye . . . aye . . .!’ he repeated several times. It .vas impossible to interpret these sounds. The doctor thought he had guessed it, and asked:
‘The princess is afraid?’
He shook his head, and again repeated the same sounds.
‘The soul, the soul is in pain!’ Princess Marya guessed. He grunted iffirmatively, took her hand, and began pressing it to different parts )f his breast as though seeking the right place for it.
I ‘Always thinking!—about you . . . thinking ... !’ he articulated, ar more intelligibly than before now that he felt sure of being under-
676 WARANDPEACE
stood. Princess Marya pressed her head against his arm, trying to hide her sobs and tears.
He passed his hand over her hair.
‘I called for you all night . . .’ he articulated.
‘If I had only known . . she said, through her tears. ‘I was afraid to come in.’
He pressed her hand.
‘Weren’t you asleep?’
‘No, I couldn’t sleep,’ said Princess Marya, shaking her head.
Unconsciously imitating her father, she tried to speak more by signs, as he spoke, as though she, too, had a difficulty in articulating.
‘Darling!’ ... or ‘dear one!’ . . . Princess Marya could not distinguish the word; but from the expression of his eyes she had no doubt what was said was a word of caressing tenderness such as he had never used to her before. ‘Why didn’t you come?’
‘And I was wishing, wishing for his death!’ thought Princess Marya.
He paused.
‘Thanks . . . to you . . . child, dear one! for all, for all . . . forgive . . . thanks! . . . forgive! . . . thanks! . . .’ And tears flowed from his eyes. ‘Call Andryusha,’ he said suddenly, and a look of childish and deprecating misgiving came into his face at the question. He seemed to be himself aware that his question had no meaning. So at least it seemed to Princess Marya.
‘I have had a letter from him,’ answered Princess Marya.
He looked at her with timid wonder.
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s with the army, father, at Smolensk.’
He was silent for a long while, closing his eyes. Then, as though to answer his doubts, and to assert that now he understood it all and remembered, he nodded his head and opened his eyes.
‘Yes,’ he said, softly and distinctly. ‘Russia is lost! They have lost her!’
And again he broke into sobs, and tears flowed from his eyes. Princess Marya could restrain herself no more, and wept too as she looked at his ‘ face.
He closed his eyes again. His sobs ceased. He pointed to his eyes; and Tihon, understanding him, wiped away his tears.
Then he opened his eyes, and said something, which, for a long while, i no one could understand; and at last Tihon understood and interpreted.
Princess Marya looked for the drift of his words in the direction in which he had been speaking a minute before. She supposed he was speak- : ing of Russia; then of Prince Andrey, of herself, of his grandson, then | of his own death. And this was just why she could not understand his j words.
‘Put on your white, dress. I like it,’ he had said.
When she understood those words Princess Marya sobbed louder thar ever, and the doctor, taking her on his arm, led her out of the room on to the terrace, trying to persuade her to calm herself, and to devotf
herself to preparations for the journey. After Princess Marya had left the prince, he began talking again of his son, of the war, of the Tsar, twitched his eyebrows angrily, began to raise his hoarse voice, and was seized by a second and final stroke.
Princess Marya stayed on the terrace. The day had become brilliantly fine, sunny, and warm. She could grasp nothing, could think of nothing, and feel nothing but her passionate love for her father, of which it seemed to her that she had not been aware till that minute. She ran out into the garden, and ran sobbing towards the pond along the paths planted with young lime-trees by Prince Andrey.
‘Yes ...I...I...I longed for his death! Yes, I wanted it soon to be over ... I wanted to be at peace . . . And what will become of me? What use will peace be to me when he is gone?’ Princess Marya muttered aloud, walking with rapid steps through the garden, and pressing her hands to her bosom, which heaved with convulsive sobs. Going round the garden in a circle, which brought her back again to the house, she saw coming towards her Mademoiselle Bourienne (who was remaining at Bogutcharovo, preferring not to move away), and with her an unknown gentleman. It was the district marshal, who had come to call on the princess, to urge upon her the necessity of her immediate departure. Princess Marya listened and did not take in what he said. She took him into the house, offered him lunch, and sat down with him. Then asking him to excuse her, she went to the old prince’s door. The doctor came out with a perturbed face and told her she could not go in.
‘Go away, princess; go away!’
