las and his wife lived together so happily that even Sonya and the
old countess, who felt jealous and would have liked them to disagree,
could find nothing to reproach them with; but even they had their
moments of antagonism. Occasionally, and it was always just after they
had been happiest together, they suddenly had a feeling of estrangement
and hostility, which occurred most frequently during Countess Mary's
pregnancies, and this was such a time.

"Well, messieurs et mesdames," said Nicholas loudly and with apparent
cheerfulness (it seemed to Countess Mary that he did it on purpose to
vex her), "I have been on my feet since six this morning. Tomorrow I
shall have to suffer, so today I'll go and rest."

And without a word to his wife he went to the little sitting room and
lay down on the sofa.

"That's always the way," thought Countess Mary. "He talks to everyone
except me. I see... I see that I am repulsive to him, especially when I
am in this condition." She looked down at her expanded figure and in the
glass at her pale, sallow, emaciated face in which her eyes now looked
larger than ever.

And everything annoyed her--Denisov's shouting and laughter, Natasha's
talk, and especially a quick glance Sonya gave her.

Sonya was always the first excuse Countess Mary found for feeling
irritated.

Having sat awhile with her visitors without understanding anything of
what they were saying, she softly left the room and went to the nursery.

The children were playing at "going to Moscow" in a carriage made of
chairs and invited her to go with them. She sat down and played with
them a little, but the thought of her husband and his unreasonable
crossness worried her. She got up and, walking on tiptoe with
difficulty, went to the small sitting room.

"Perhaps he is not asleep; I'll have an explanation with him," she
said to herself. Little Andrew, her eldest boy, imitating his mother,
followed her on tiptoe. She did not notice him.

"Mary, dear, I think he is asleep--he was so tired," said Sonya, meeting
her in the large sitting room (it seemed to Countess Mary that she
crossed her path everywhere). "Andrew may wake him."

Countess Mary looked round, saw little Andrew following her, felt that
Sonya was right, and for that very reason flushed and with evident
difficulty refrained from saying something harsh. She made no reply, but
to avoid obeying Sonya beckoned to Andrew to follow her quietly and went
to the door. Son