ld not shut down. A few
more things might have been taken out, but Natasha insisted on having
her own way. She packed, repacked, pressed, made the butler's assistant
and Petya--whom she had drawn into the business of packing--press on the
lid, and made desperate efforts herself.

"That's enough, Natasha," said Sonya. "I see you were right, but just
take out the top one."

"I won't!" cried Natasha, with one hand holding back the hair that hung
over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the
carpets. "Now press, Petya! Press, Vasilich, press hard!" she cried.

The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Natasha, clapping her hands,
screamed with delight and tears fell from her eyes. But this only
lasted a moment. She at once set to work afresh and they now trusted her
completely. The count was not angry even when they told him that Natasha
had countermanded an order of his, and the servants now came to her
to ask whether a cart was sufficiently loaded, and whether it might
be corded up. Thanks to Natasha's directions the work now went on
expeditiously, unnecessary things were left, and the most valuable
packed as compactly as possible.

But hard as they all worked till quite late that night, they could not
get everything packed. The countess had fallen asleep and the count,
having put off their departure till next morning, went to bed.

Sonya and Natasha slept in the sitting room without undressing.

That night another wounded man was driven down the Povarskaya, and Mavra
Kuzminichna, who was standing at the gate, had him brought into the
Rostovs' yard. Mavra Kuzminichna concluded that he was a very important
man. He was being conveyed in a caleche with a raised hood, and was
quite covered by an apron. On the box beside the driver sat a venerable
old attendant. A doctor and two soldiers followed the carriage in a
cart.

"Please come in here. The masters are going away and the whole house
will be empty," said the old woman to the old attendant.

"Well, perhaps," said he with a sigh. "We don't expect to get him home
alive! We have a house of our own in Moscow, but it's a long way from
here, and there's nobody living in it."

"Do us the honor to come in, there's plenty of everything in the
master's house. Come in," said Mavra Kuzminichna. "Is he very ill?" she
asked.

The attendant made a hopeless gesture.

"We don't expect to get him home! We must ask the doctor."

And the old servant got down