Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace 177


Banned Celebs






Emma Watson Pussy



Books:

Anna Karenina


War And Peace



counts orders 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 a smile. 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 business!" "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

War And Peace page 176        War And Peace page 178