Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
with pleased faces, for they knew that under no other management could
they so easily extract a good profit for themselves from a dinner
costing several thousand rubles.
"Well then, mind and have cocks comb in the turtle soup, you know!"
"Shall we have three cold dishes then?" asked the cook.
The count considered.
"We cant have less--yes, three... the mayonnaise, thats one," said
he, bending down a finger.
"Then am I to order those large sterlets?" asked the steward.
"Yes, it cant be helped if they wont take less. Ah, dear me! I was
forgetting. We must have another entree. Ah, goodness gracious!" he
clutched at his head. "Who is going to get me the flowers? Dmitri! Eh,
Dmitri! Gallop off to our Moscow estate," he said to the factotum
who appeared at his call. "Hurry off and tell Maksim, the gardener, to
set the serfs to work. Say that everything out of the hothouses must
be brought here well wrapped up in felt. I must have two hundred
pots here on Friday."
Having given several more orders, he was about to go to his
"little countess" to have a rest, but remembering something else of
importance, he returned again, called back the cook and the club
steward, and again began giving orders. A light footstep and the
clinking of spurs were heard at the door, and the young count,
handsome, rosy, with a dark little mustache, evidently rested and made
sleeker by his easy life in Moscow, entered the room.
"Ah, my boy, my heads in a whirl!" said the old man with a smile,
as if he felt a little confused before his son. "Now, if you would
only help a bit! I must have singers too. I shall have my own
orchestra, but shouldnt we get the gypsy singers as well? You
military men like that sort of thing."
"Really, Papa, I believe Prince Bagration worried himself less
before the battle of Schon Grabern than you do now," said his son with
The old count pretended to be angry.
"Yes, you talk, but try it yourself!"
And the count turned to the cook, who, with a shrewd and
respectful expression, looked observantly and sympathetically at the
father and son.
"What have the young people come to nowadays, eh, Feoktist?" said
he. "Laughing at us old fellows!"
"Thats so, your excellency, all they have to do is to eat a good
dinner, but providing it and serving it all up, thats not their
"Thats it, thats it!" exclaimed the count, and gaily seizing his
son by both hands, he cried, "Now Ive got you, so take the sleigh and
pair at once, and go to Bezukhovs, and tell him Count Ilya has
sent you to ask for strawberries and fresh pineapples. We cant get
them from anyone else. Hes not there himself, so youll have to go in
and ask the princesses; and from there go on to the Rasgulyay--the
coachman Ipatka knows--and look up the gypsy Ilyushka, the one who
danced at Count Orlovs, you remember, in a white Cossack coat, and
bring him along to me."
"And am I to bring the gypsy girls along with him?" asked
Nicholas, laughing. "Dear, dear!..."
At that moment, with noiseless footsteps and with the
businesslike, preoccupied, yet meekly Christian look which never
left her face, Anna Mikhaylovna entered the hall. Though she came upon
the count in his dressing gown every day, he invariably became
confused and begged her to excuse his costume.
"No matter at all, my dear count," she said, meekly closing her
eyes. "But Ill go to Bezukhovs myself. Pierre has arrived, and now
we shall get anything we want from his hothouses. I have to see him in
any case. He has forwarded me a letter from Boris. Thank God, Boris is
now on the staff."
The count was delighted at Anna Mikhaylovnas taking upon herself
one of his commissions and ordered the small closed carriage for her.
"Tell Bezukhov to come. Ill put his name down. Is his wife with
him?" he asked.
Anna Mikhaylovna turned up her eyes, and profound sadness was
depicted on her face.
"Ah, my dear friend, he is very unfortunate," she said. "If what
we hear is true, it is dreadful. How little we dreamed of such a thing
when we were rejoicing at his happiness! And such a lofty angelic soul
as young Bezukhov! Yes, I pity him from my heart, and shall try to
give him what consolation I can."
"Wh-what is the matter?" asked both the young and old Rostov.
Anna Mikhaylovna sighed deeply.
"Dolokhov, Mary Ivanovnas
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