gin shouting, but I am not one to be shouted down. I said what I had
to say!"

"Well, and he?" asked the count.

"He? He's crazy... he did not want to listen. But what's the use
of talking? As it is we have worn the poor girl out," said Marya
Dmitrievna. "My advice to you is finish your business and go back home
to Otradnoe... and wait there."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Natasha.

"Yes, go back," said Marya Dmitrievna, "and wait there. If your
betrothed comes here now--there will be no avoiding a quarrel; but alone
with the old man he will talk things over and then come on to you."

Count Rostov approved of this suggestion, appreciating its
reasonableness. If the old man came round it would be all the better to
visit him in Moscow or at Bald Hills later on; and if not, the wedding,
against his wishes, could only be arranged at Otradnoe.

"That is perfectly true. And I am sorry I went to see him and took her,"
said the old count.

"No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to pay your respects. But if he
won't--that's his affair," said Marya Dmitrievna, looking for something
in her reticule. "Besides, the trousseau is ready, so there is nothing
to wait for; and what is not ready I'll send after you. Though I don't
like letting you go, it is the best way. So go, with God's blessing!"

Having found what she was looking for in the reticule she handed it to
Natasha. It was a letter from Princess Mary.

"She has written to you. How she torments herself, poor thing! She's
afraid you might think that she does not like you."

"But she doesn't like me," said Natasha.

"Don't talk nonsense!" cried Marya Dmitrievna.

"I shan't believe anyone, I know she doesn't like me," replied Natasha
boldly as she took the letter, and her face expressed a cold and angry
resolution that caused Marya Dmitrievna to look at her more intently and
to frown.

"Don't answer like that, my good girl!" she said. "What I say is true!
Write an answer!" Natasha did not reply and went to her own room to read
Princess Mary's letter.

Princess Mary wrote that she was in despair at the misunderstanding that
had occurred between them. Whatever her father's feelings might be, she
begged Natasha to believe that she could not help loving her as the one
chosen by her brother, for whose happiness she was ready to sacrifice
everything.

"Do not think, however," she wrote, "that my father is ill-disposed
toward you. He is an invalid and an old man who must be for