‘I quite, quite approve, my darling!’ he said, with a significant air ‘And,’ after a brief pause, he added, ‘And I have behaved badly to-day You were not in the study. Pierre and I were arguing, and I lost my temper. I couldn’t help it. He is such a child. I don’t know what woulc become of him if Natasha didn’t keep him at her apron-strings. Can yoi imagine what he went to Petersburg about? . . . They have made a . . .
‘Yes, I know,’ said Countess Marya. ‘Natasha told me.’
‘Oh, well, you know, then,’ Nikolay went on, getting hot at the mere recollection of the discussion. ‘He wants to persuade me that it’s the duty of every honest man to work against the government when one’s sworn allegiance and duty. ... I am sorry you were not there. As it was, they all fell upon me, Denisov, and Natasha, too. . . . Natasha is too amusing.
le know she twists him round her little finger, but when it comes to dis- tssion—she hasn’t an idea to call her own—she simply repeats his nrds,’ added Nikolay, yielding to that irresistible impulse that tempts ee to criticise one’s nearest and dearest. Nikolay was unaware that what 1 was saying of Natasha might be said word for word of himself in relate to his wife.
‘Yes, I have noticed that,’ said Countess Marya.
‘When I told him that duty and sworn allegiance come before every- ling, he began arguing God knows what. It was a pity you were not there. ' hat would you have said?’
‘To my thinking, you were quite right. I told Natasha so. Pierre says at every one is suffering, and being ill-treated and corrupted, and that s our duty to help our neighbours. Of course, he is right,’ said Countess arya; ‘but he forgets that we have other nearer duties, which God Him- lf has marked out for us, and that we may run risks for ourselves, but )t for our children.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s just what I told him,’ cried Nikolay, who actually fan- ed he had said just that. ‘And they had all their say out about loving he’s neighbour, and Christianity, and all the rest of it, before Nikolinka, ho had slipped in there, and was pulling all my things to pieces.’
‘Ah, do you know, Nikolay, I am so often worried about Nikolinka,’ lid Countess Marya. ‘He is such an exceptional boy. And I am afraid neglect him for my own. All of us have our children; we all have our wn ties; while he has nobody. He is always alone with his thoughts.’ ‘Well, I don’t think you have anything to reproach yourself with on his ccount. Everything the fondest mother could do for her son you have one, and are doing, for him. And of course I am glad you do. He is a olendid boy, splendid! This evening he was lost in a sort of dream listen- ig to Pierre. And only fancy, we got up to go in to supper. I look; and riere he has broken everything on my table to fragments, and he told me f it at once. I have never know him to tell a fib. He’s a splendid boy!’ epeated Nikolay, who did not in his heart like Nikolinka, but always felt loved to acknowledge that he was a splendid fellow.
‘Still I am not the same as a mother,’ said Countess Marya. ‘I feel hat it’s not the same, and it worries me. He’s a wonderful boy; but I m awfully afraid for him. Companionship will be good for him.’
‘Oh, well, it’s not for long; next summer I shall take him to Petersburg,’ aid Nikolay. ‘Yes, Pierre always was, and always will be, a dreamer,’ he vent on, returning to the discussion in the study, which had evidently vorked on his feelings. ‘Why, what concern is all that of mine—Arakt- heev’s misdoings, and all the rest of it—what concern was it of mine, vhen at the time of our marriage I had so many debts that they were going o put me in prison, and a mother who couldn t see it or understand it. \nd then you, and the children, and my work. It’s not for my own Measure I am from morning to night looking after the men, or in the :ounting-house. No, I know I must work to comfort my mother, repay /ou, and not leave my children in beggary, as I was left myself.’
Countess Marya wanted to tell him that man does not live by breai alone; that he attached too much importance to this work. But she kne\ that she must not say this, and that it would be useless. She only took hi hand and kissed it. He accepted this gesture on his wife’s part as a sigi of assent and approval of his words, and after a few moments of silen thought he went on thinking aloud.
‘Do you know, Marie,’ he said, ‘Ilya Mitrofanitch’ (this was a stewan of his) ‘was here to-day from the Tambov estate, and he tells me they wi] give eighty thousand for the forest.’ And with an eager face Nikola; began talking of the possibility of buying Otradnoe back within a ver; short time. ‘Another ten years of life, and I shall leave the children . . in a capital position.’
