Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
whispered the nurse.
The blood rushed to Natashas face and her feet involuntarily moved,
but she could not jump up and run out. The baby again opened his
eyes and looked at her. "Youre here?" he seemed to be saying, and
again lazily smacked his lips.
Cautiously withdrawing her breast, Natasha rocked him a little,
handed him to the nurse, and went with rapid steps toward the door.
But at the door she stopped as if her conscience reproached her for
having in her joy left the child too soon, and she glanced round.
The nurse with raised elbows was lifting the infant over the rail of
"Go, maam! Dont worry, go!" she whispered, smiling, with the
kind of familiarity that grows up between a nurse and her mistress.
Natasha ran with light footsteps to the anteroom.
Denisov, who had come out of the study into the dancing room with
his pipe, now for the first time recognized the old Natasha. A flood
of brilliant, joyful light poured from her transfigured face.
"Hes come!" she exclaimed as she ran past, and Denisov felt that he
too was delighted that Pierre, whom he did not much care for, had
On reaching the vestibule Natasha saw a tall figure in a fur coat
unwinding his scarf. "Its he! Its really he! He has come!" she
said to herself, and rushing at him embraced him, pressed his head
to her breast, and then pushed him back and gazed at his ruddy,
happy face, covered with hoarfrost. "Yes, it is he, happy and
Then all at once she remembered the tortures of suspense she had
experienced for the last fortnight, and the joy that had lit up her
face vanished; she frowned and overwhelmed Pierre with a torrent of
reproaches and angry words.
"Yes, its all very well for you. You are pleased, youve had a good
time.... But what about me? You might at least have shown
consideration for the children. I am nursing and my milk was
spoiled.... Petya was at deaths door. But you were enjoying yourself.
Pierre knew he was not to blame, for he could not have come
sooner; he knew this outburst was unseemly and would blow over in a
minute or two; above all he knew that he himself was bright and happy.
He wanted to smile but dared not even think of doing so. He made a
piteous, frightened face and bent down.
"I could not, on my honor. But how is Petya?"
"All right now. Come along! I wonder youre not ashamed! If only you
could see what I was like without you, how I suffered!"
"You are well?"
"Come, come!" she said, not letting go of his arm. And they went
to their rooms.
When Nicholas and his wife came to look for Pierre he was in the
nursery holding his baby son, who was again awake, on his huge right
palm and dandling him. A blissful bright smile was fixed on the babys
broad face with its toothless open mouth. The storm was long since
over and there was bright, joyous sunshine on Natashas face as she
gazed tenderly at her husband and child.
"And have you talked everything well over with Prince Theodore?" she
"You see, he holds it up." (She meant the babys head.) "But how
he did frighten me... Youve seen the princess? Is it true shes in
love with that..."
"Yes, just fancy..."
At that moment Nicholas and Countess Mary came in. Pierre with the
baby on his hand stooped, kissed them, and replied to their inquiries.
But in spite of much that was interesting and had to be discussed, the
baby with the little cap on its unsteady head evidently absorbed all
"How sweet!" said Countess Mary, looking at and playing with the
baby. "Now, Nicholas," she added, turning to her husband, "I cant
understand how it is you dont see the charm of these delicious
"I dont and cant," replied Nicholas, looking coldly at the baby.
"A lump of flesh. Come along, Pierre!"
"And yet hes such an affectionate father," said Countess Mary,
vindicating her husband, "but only after they are a year old or so..."
"Now, Pierre nurses them splendidly," said Natasha. "He says his
hand is just made for a babys seat. Just look!"
"Only not for this..." Pierre suddenly exclaimed with a laugh, and
shifting the baby he gave him to the nurse.
As in every large household, there were at Bald Hills several
perfectly distinct worlds which merged into one harmonious whole,
though each retained its own peculiarities
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