nd-nut sweets, or such
a chicken anywhere. Anisya Fedorovna left the room.

After supper, over their cherry brandy, Rostov and "Uncle" talked of
past and future hunts, of Rugay and Ilagin's dogs, while Natasha sat
upright on the sofa and listened with sparkling eyes. She tried several
times to wake Petya that he might eat something, but he only muttered
incoherent words without waking up. Natasha felt so lighthearted and
happy in these novel surroundings that she only feared the trap would
come for her too soon. After a casual pause, such as often occurs
when receiving friends for the first time in one's own house, "Uncle,"
answering a thought that was in his visitors' mind, said:

"This, you see, is how I am finishing my days... Death will come. That's
it, come on! Nothing will remain. Then why harm anyone?"

"Uncle's" face was very significant and even handsome as he said this.
Involuntarily Rostov recalled all the good he had heard about him from
his father and the neighbors. Throughout the whole province "Uncle" had
the reputation of being the most honorable and disinterested of cranks.
They called him in to decide family disputes, chose him as executor,
confided secrets to him, elected him to be a justice and to other posts;
but he always persistently refused public appointments, passing the
autumn and spring in the fields on his bay gelding, sitting at home in
winter, and lying in his overgrown garden in summer.

"Why don't you enter the service, Uncle?"

"I did once, but gave it up. I am not fit for it. That's it, come on! I
can't make head or tail of it. That's for you--I haven't brains enough.
Now, hunting is another matter--that's it, come on! Open the door,
there!" he shouted. "Why have you shut it?"

The door at the end of the passage led to the huntsmen's room, as they
called the room for the hunt servants.

There was a rapid patter of bare feet, and an unseen hand opened the
door into the huntsmen's room, from which came the clear sounds of a
balalayka on which someone, who was evidently a master of the art, was
playing. Natasha had been listening to those strains for some time and
now went out into the passage to hear better.

"That's Mitka, my coachman.... I have got him a good balalayka. I'm fond
of it," said "Uncle."

It was the custom for Mitka to play the balalayka in the huntsmen's room
when "Uncle" returned from the chase. "Uncle" was fond of such music.

"How good! Really very good!" sa