‘God have mercy! ... a wind and the drought . . .’ said a voice again.
‘Look ’ee, how it’s spreading. O Lord! why, one can see the jackdaws! Lord, have mercy on us poor sinners!’
‘They’ll put it out, never fear.’
j ‘Who’s to put it out?’ cried the voice of Danilo Terentyitch, silent till hat moment. His voice was quiet and deliberate. ‘Moscow it is, mates,’ le said; ‘it's she, our mother, the white city . . .’ his voice broke, and |ie suddenly burst into the sobs of old age. And it seemed as though all lad been only waiting for that to grasp the import for all of that glow they vere watching. Sighs were heard and muttered prayers, and the sobs of the ild valet.
XXXI
'he valet on going in informed the count that Moscow was on fire. The ount put on his dressing-gown and went out to look. With him went onya, who had not yet undressed, and Madame Schoss, Natasha and the ountess were left alone within. Petya was no longer with the family; ,e had gone on ahead with his regiment marching to Troitsa.
The countess wept on hearing that Moscow was in flames. Natasha, ale, with staring eyes, sat on the bench under the holy images, the spot diere she had first thrown herself down on entering, and took no notice f her father’s words. She was listening to the never-ceasing moan of the djutant, audible three huts away.
‘Oh! how awful!’ cried Sonya, coming in chilled and frightened from ,ae yard. ‘I do believe all Moscow is burning; there’s an awful fire! r atasha, do look; you can see now from the window here,’ she said, pviously trying to distract her friend’s mind. But Natasha stared at her, b though she did not understand what was asked of her, and fixed her /es again on the corner of the stove. Natasha had been in this petrified mdition ever since the morning, when Sonya, to the amazement and iger of the countess, had for some incomprehensible reason thought fit i inform Natasha of Prince Andrey’s wound, and his presence among ieir train. The countess had been angry with Sonya, as she was very irely angry. Sonya had cried and begged forgiveness, and now she jaited all the while on her friend, as though trying to atone for her fault, j ‘Look, Natasha, how frightfully it’s burning,’ said Sonya.
; ‘What’s burning?’ asked Natasha. ‘Oh yes, Moscow.’
And to get rid of Sonya, and not hurt her by a refusal, she moved her 'ad towards the window, looking in such a way that it was evident she iuld see nothing, and sat down again in the same attitude as before.
‘But you didn’t see?’
‘Yes, I really did see,’ she declared in a voice that implored to be left in peace.
Both the countess and Sonya could readily understand that Moscow, the burning of Moscow, anything whatever in fact, could be of no interest to Natasha.
The count carne in again behind the partition wall and lay down. The countess went up to Natasha, put the back of her hand to her head, as she did when her daughter was ill, then touched her forehead with her lips, as though to find out whether she were feverish, and kissed her.
‘You are chilled? You are all shaking. You should lie down,’ she said
‘Lie down? Yes, very well, I’ll lie down. I’ll lie down in a minute,’ saic Natasha.
When Natasha had been told that morning that Prince Andrey wa' seriously wounded, and was travelling with them, she had at the firs! moment asked a great many questions, how and why and where was he going; whether he were dangerously wounded, and whether she couk see him. But after she had been told that she could not see him, tha his wound was a serious one, but that his life was not in danger, thougl she plainly did not believe what was told her, she saw that she would ge the same answer whatever she said, and gave up asking questions anc speaking at all. All the way Natasha had sat motionless in the corner o the carriage with those wide eyes, the look in which the countess knev| so well and dreaded so much. And she was sitting in just the same wa} now on the bench in the hut. She was brooding on some plan; she wa: making, or already by now had made some decision, in her own mind— that the countess knew, but what that decision was she did not know, ant that alarmed and worried her.
‘Natasha, undress, darling, get into my bed.’
For the countess only a bed had been made up on a bedstead. Madam' Schoss and the two girls were to sleep on hay on the floor.
‘No, mamma, I’ll lie here on the floor,’ said Natasha irritably; sh went to the window and opened it. The moans of the adjutant could b heard more distinctly from the open window. She put her head out int> the damp night air, and the countess saw her slender neck shaking wit: sobs and heaving against the window frame. Natasha knew it was no Prince Andrey moaning. She knew that Prince Andrey was in the sam block of huts as they were in, that he was in the next hut just across th porch, but that fearful never ceasing moan made her sob. The countes exchanged glances with Sonya.
