dy with whom he had spent his
evenings for years, she regretted Julie's presence and having no one to
write to. In Moscow Princess Mary had no one to talk to, no one to whom
to confide her sorrow, and much sorrow fell to her lot just then. The
time for Prince Andrew's return and marriage was approaching, but his
request to her to prepare his father for it had not been carried out; in
fact, it seemed as if matters were quite hopeless, for at every mention
of the young Countess Rostova the old prince (who apart from that was
usually in a bad temper) lost control of himself. Another lately added
sorrow arose from the lessons she gave her six year-old nephew. To her
consternation she detected in herself in relation to little Nicholas
some symptoms of her father's irritability. However often she told
herself that she must not get irritable when teaching her nephew, almost
every time that, pointer in hand, she sat down to show him the French
alphabet, she so longed to pour her own knowledge quickly and easily
into the child--who was already afraid that Auntie might at any moment
get angry--that at his slightest inattention she trembled, became
flustered and heated, raised her voice, and sometimes pulled him by the
arm and put him in the corner. Having put him in the corner she would
herself begin to cry over her cruel, evil nature, and little Nicholas,
following her example, would sob, and without permission would leave his
corner, come to her, pull her wet hands from her face, and comfort
her. But what distressed the princess most of all was her father's
irritability, which was always directed against her and had of late
amounted to cruelty. Had he forced her to prostrate herself to the
ground all night, had he beaten her or made her fetch wood or water, it
would never have entered her mind to think her position hard; but this
loving despot--the more cruel because he loved her and for that reason
tormented himself and her--knew how not merely to hurt and humiliate
her deliberately, but to show her that she was always to blame for
everything. Of late he had exhibited a new trait that tormented Princess
Mary more than anything else; this was his ever-increasing intimacy with
Mademoiselle Bourienne. The idea that at the first moment of receiving
the news of his son's intentions had occurred to him in jest--that
if Andrew got married he himself would marry Bourienne--had evidently
pleased him, and latterly he had persistently, and