The servants gathered round Natasha, and could hardly believe the strange order she gave them, till the count himself in his wife’s name confirmed the order that all the waggons were to be placed at the disposal of the wounded, and the boxes were to be taken down to the storerooms. When they understood, the servants gleefully and busily set to this new task. It no longer seemed strange to the servants, it seemed to them, indeed, that no other course was possible; just as a quarter of an hour before they had not thought it strange to leave the wounded behind and take the furniture; had accepted that too, in fact, as the only course possible. '
All the household set to work getting the wounded men into the waggons with the greatest zeal, as though to make up for not having espoused their cause earlier. The wounded soldiers came creeping out of their rooms, and crowded round the wagons, with pale, delighted faces. The news spread to the neighbouring houses, and wounded men began to come into the yard from other houses too. Many of the wounded soldiers begged them not take out the boxes, but only to let them sit on the top of them. But when once the work of unloading had begun there was no stopping it; it seemed of little consequence whether all were left or half. The cases of china, of bronzes, of pictures and looking-glasses, which had been so carefully packed during the previous night lay in the yard, and still they sought and found possibilities of taking out more and more,! and leaving more and more, for the wounded.
‘We can take four more,’ said the steward. ‘I’ll leave my luggage, or else what is to become of them?’
‘Oh, let them have our wardrobe cart,’ said the countess; ‘Dunyasha will go with me in the carriage.’
The waggon packed with the ladies’ wardrobe was unloaded, and sent to fetch wounded men from two doors off. All the family and the servants too were eager and merry. Natasha was in a state of ecstatic happiness, such as she had not known for a very long while.
‘Where are we to fasten this on?-’ said the servant, trying to lay a runk on the narrow footboard behind in the carriage. ‘We must keep ust one cart for it.’
‘What is it?’ asked Natasha.
‘The count’s books.’
‘Leave it. Vassilitch will put it away. That’s not necessary.’
The covered gig was full,of people; they were only in doubt where 'yotr Ilyitch was to sit.
‘He’ll go on the box. You’ll go on the box, won’t you, Petya?’ cried Jatasha.
Sonya, too, worked with unflagging zeal; but the aim of her exertions r as the opposite of Natasha’s. She saw to the storing away of all that was ■ft behind, made a list of them at the countess’s desire, and tried to et as much as possible taken with them.
XVII
y two o’clock the Rostovs’ four carriages, packed and ready to start, ,ood in the approach. The waggon-loads of wounded were filing one after nother out of the yard.
The coach in which Prince Andrey was being taken drove by the front oor, and attracted the attention of Sonya, who was helping a maid to rrange the countess’s seat comfortably in her huge, high carriage.
‘Whose carriage is that?’ asked Sonya, popping her head out of the irriage window.
‘Why, haven’t you heard, miss?’ answered the maid. ‘The wounded rince; he stayed the night in the house, and is going on with us.’
‘Oh, who is he? what’s his name?’
‘Our betrothed that was . . . Prince Bolkonsky himself!’ answered le maid, sighing. ‘They say he is dying.’
Sonya jumped out of the carriage and ran in to the countess. The count- ;s, dressed for the journey, in her hat and shawl, was walking wearily bout the drawing-room, waiting for the rest of the household to come 1 and sit down with closed doors, for the usual silent prayer before itting out. Natasha was not in the room.
‘Mamma,’ said Sonya. ‘Prince Andrey is here, wounded and dying, le is going with us.’
The countess opened her eyes in dismay, and clutching Sonya’s arm, toked about her.
‘Natasha,’ she said.
Both to Sonya and the countess this news had for the first moment lit one significance. They knew their Natasha, and alarm at the thought f the effect the news might have on her outweighed all sympathy for le man, though they both liked him.
‘Natasha does not know yet, but he is going with us,’ said Sonya. ‘You say he is dying?’
Sonya nodded.
The countess embraced Sonya and burst into tears. ‘The ways of th Lord are past our finding out!’ she thought, feeling that in all that wa passing now the Hand of the Almighty, hitherto unseen, was beginnin to be manifest.
‘Well, mamma, it’s all ready. What is it? . . .’ asked Natasha, runnin with her eager face into the room.
‘Nothing,’ said the countess. ‘If we’re ready, then do let us start.’ Am the countess bent over her reticule to hide her agitated face. Sonya em braced Natasha and kissed her.
Natasha looked inquisitively at her.
‘What is it? What has happened?’
‘Nothing, ... oh, no, . . .’
‘Something very bad, concerning me? . . . What is it?’ asked th keen-witted Natasha.
