all worse than a swallow-tail or frock coat. "Uncle"
too was in high spirits and far from being offended by the brother's
and sister's laughter (it could never enter his head that they might be
laughing at his way of life) he himself joined in the merriment.

"That's right, young countess, that's it, come on! I never saw anyone
like her!" said he, offering Nicholas a pipe with a long stem and, with
a practiced motion of three fingers, taking down another that had been
cut short. "She's ridden all day like a man, and is as fresh as ever!"

Soon after "Uncle's" reappearance the door was opened, evidently from
the sound by a barefooted girl, and a stout, rosy, good-looking woman
of about forty, with a double chin and full red lips, entered carrying a
large loaded tray. With hospitable dignity and cordiality in her glance
and in every motion, she looked at the visitors and, with a pleasant
smile, bowed respectfully. In spite of her exceptional stoutness, which
caused her to protrude her chest and stomach and throw back her head,
this woman (who was "Uncle's" housekeeper) trod very lightly. She went
to the table, set down the tray, and with her plump white hands deftly
took from it the bottles and various hors d'oeuvres and dishes and
arranged them on the table. When she had finished, she stepped aside and
stopped at the door with a smile on her face. "Here I am. I am she! Now
do you understand 'Uncle'?" her expression said to Rostov. How could one
help understanding? Not only Nicholas, but even Natasha understood
the meaning of his puckered brow and the happy complacent smile that
slightly puckered his lips when Anisya Fedorovna entered. On the tray
was a bottle of herb wine, different kinds of vodka, pickled mushrooms,
rye cakes made with buttermilk, honey in the comb, still mead and
sparkling mead, apples, nuts (raw and roasted), and nut-and-honey
sweets. Afterwards she brought a freshly roasted chicken, ham, preserves
made with honey, and preserves made with sugar.

All this was the fruit of Anisya Fedorovna's housekeeping, gathered and
prepared by her. The smell and taste of it all had a smack of Anisya
Fedorovna herself: a savor of juiciness, cleanliness, whiteness, and
pleasant smiles.

"Take this, little Lady-Countess!" she kept saying, as she offered
Natasha first one thing and then another.

Natasha ate of everything and thought she had never seen or eaten such
buttermilk cakes, such aromatic jam, such honey-a