Natasha had so often during that fortnight had recourse to her baby >r comfort, that she had over-nursed him, and he had fallen ill. She was rrified at his illness, but still this was just what she needed. In looking ter him, she was able to bear her uneasiness about her husband better. She was nursing the baby when Pierre’s carriage drove noisily up to le entrance, and the nurse, knowing how to please her mistress, came (audibly but quickly to the door with a beaming face.
‘He has come?’ asked Natasha in a rapid whisper, afraid to stir for ■ar of waking the baby, v who was dropping asleep.
‘He has come, ma’am,’ whispered the nurse.
The blood rushed to Natasha’s face, and her feet involuntarily moved; ut to jump up and run was out of the question. The baby opened its ttle eyes again, glanced, as though to say, ‘You are here,’ and gave nother lazy smack with its lips.
Cautiously withdrawing her breast, Natasha dandled it, handed it to :ie nurse, and went with swift steps towards the door. But at the door he stopped as though her conscience pricked her for being in such haste nd joy to leave the baby, and she looked back. The nurse, with her elbows aised, was lifting the baby over the rail of the cot.
‘Yes, go along, go along, ma’am, don’t worry, run along,’ whispered he nurse, smiling with the familiarity that was common between nurse tnd mistress.
With light steps Natasha ran to the vestibule. Denisov, coming out if the study into the hall with a pipe in his mouth, seemed to see Natasha
again for the first time. A vivid radiance of joy shed streams of light fro her transfigured countenance.
‘He has come! ’ she called to him, as she flew by, and Denisov felt tl he was thrilled to hear that Pierre had come, though he did not partk larlv care for him. Running into the vestibule, Natasha saw a tall figi in a fur cloak fumbling at his scarf.
‘He! he! It’s true. Here he is,’ she said to herself, and darting up him, she hugged him, squeezing her head to his breast, and then drawi back, glanced at the frosty, red, and happy face of Pierre. ‘Yes, here is; happy, satisfied . . .’
And all at once she remembered all the tortures of suspense she h; passed through during the last fortnight. The joy beaming in her fa vanished; she frowned, and a torrent of reproaches and angry wor broke upon Pierre.
‘Yes, you are all right, you have been happy, you have been enjoyii yourself . . . But what about me! You might at least think of yo; children. I am nursing, my milk went wrong . . . Petya nearly died of ill And you have been enjoying yourself. Yes, enjoying yourself . . .’
Pierre knew he was not to blame, because he could not have con sooner. He knew this outburst on her part was unseemly, and would be a over in two minutes. Above all, he knew that he was himself happy an joyful. He would have liked to smile, but dared not even think of tha He made a piteous, dismayed face, and bowed before the storm.
‘I could not, upon my word. But how is Petya?’
‘He is all right now, come along. Aren’t you ashamed? If you could se what I am like without you, how wretched I am . . .’
‘Are you quite well?’
‘Come along, come along,’ she said, not letting go of his hand. And the went off to their rooms. When Nikolay and his wife came to look fc Pierre, they found him in the nursery, with his baby son awake on hi broad right hand, dandling him. There was a gleeful smile on the baby’ broad face and open, toothless mouth. The storm had long blown ovei and a bright, sunny radiance of joy flowed all over Natasha’s face, a she gazed tenderly at her husband and son.
‘And did you have a good talk over everything with Prince Fyodor? Natasha was saying.
‘Yes, capital.’
‘You see, he holds his head up’ (Natasha meant the baby). ‘Oh, wha a fright he gave me. And did you see the princess? Is it true that she is ir love with that . . .’
‘Yes, can you fancy . . .’
At that moment Nikolay came in with his wife. Pierre, not letting go o his son, stooped down, kissed them, and answered their inquiries. But i was obvious that in spite of the many interesting things they had to dis cuss, the baby, with the wobbling head in the little cap, was absorbini Pierre’s whole attention.
‘How sweet he is!’ said Countess Marya, looking at the baby an<
pying with him. ‘That’s a thing I can’t understand, Nikolay,’ she said, fning to her husband, 'how it is you don’t feel the charm of these ex- cisite little creatures?’
‘Well, I don’t, I can’t,’ said Nikolay, looking coldly at the baby. ‘Just gnorsel of flesh. Come along, Pierre.’
‘The great thing is, that he is really a devoted father,’ said Countess Iarya, apologising for her husband, ‘but only after a year or so . . .’
'Oh, Pierre is a capital nurse,’ said Natasha; 'he says his hand is just nde for a baby’s back. Just look.’
‘Oh yes, but not for this,’ Pierre cried laughing, and hurriedly snatching D the baby, he handed him back to his nurse.
XII
