applause and
laughter led by Natasha. Both partners stood still, breathing heavily
and wiping their faces with their cambric handkerchiefs.

"That's how we used to dance in our time, ma chere," said the count.

"That was a Daniel Cooper!" exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna, tucking up her
sleeves and puffing heavily.

CHAPTER XXI

While in the Rostovs' ballroom the sixth anglaise was being danced, to a
tune in which the weary musicians blundered, and while tired footmen and
cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezukhov had a sixth stroke.
The doctors pronounced recovery impossible. After a mute confession,
communion was administered to the dying man, preparations made for the
sacrament of unction, and in his house there was the bustle and thrill
of suspense usual at such moments. Outside the house, beyond the gates,
a group of undertakers, who hid whenever a carriage drove up, waited in
expectation of an important order for an expensive funeral. The Military
Governor of Moscow, who had been assiduous in sending aides-de-camp to
inquire after the count's health, came himself that evening to bid a
last farewell to the celebrated grandee of Catherine's court, Count
Bezukhov.

The magnificent reception room was crowded. Everyone stood up
respectfully when the Military Governor, having stayed about half an
hour alone with the dying man, passed out, slightly acknowledging their
bows and trying to escape as quickly as possible from the glances fixed
on him by the doctors, clergy, and relatives of the family. Prince
Vasili, who had grown thinner and paler during the last few days,
escorted him to the door, repeating something to him several times in
low tones.

When the Military Governor had gone, Prince Vasili sat down all alone on
a chair in the ballroom, crossing one leg high over the other, leaning
his elbow on his knee and covering his face with his hand. After sitting
so for a while he rose, and, looking about him with frightened eyes,
went with unusually hurried steps down the long corridor leading to the
back of the house, to the room of the eldest princess.

Those who were in the dimly lit reception room spoke in nervous
whispers, and, whenever anyone went into or came from the dying man's
room, grew silent and gazed with eyes full of curiosity or expectancy at
his door, which creaked slightly when opened.

"The limits of human life... are fixed and may not be o'erpassed,"
said an old priest to a lady who