e no idea how unhappy, how lonely, I feel when you are like
that. It always seems to me..."

"Mary, don't talk nonsense. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" he
said gaily.

"It seems to be that you can't love me, that I am so plain... always...
and now... in this cond..."

"Oh, how absurd you are! It is not beauty that endears, it's love that
makes us see beauty. It is only Malvinas and women of that kind who are
loved for their beauty. But do I love my wife? I don't love her, but...
I don't know how to put it. Without you, or when something comes between
us like this, I seem lost and can't do anything. Now do I love my
finger? I don't love it, but just try to cut it off!"

"I'm not like that myself, but I understand. So you're not angry with
me?"

"Awfully angry!" he said, smiling and getting up. And smoothing his hair
he began to pace the room.

"Do you know, Mary, what I've been thinking?" he began, immediately
thinking aloud in his wife's presence now that they had made it up.

He did not ask if she was ready to listen to him. He did not care. A
thought had occurred to him and so it belonged to her also. And he told
her of his intention to persuade Pierre to stay with them till spring.

Countess Mary listened till he had finished, made some remark, and in
her turn began thinking aloud. Her thoughts were about the children.

"You can see the woman in her already," she said in French, pointing to
little Natasha. "You reproach us women with being illogical. Here is our
logic. I say: 'Papa wants to sleep!' but she says, 'No, he's laughing.'
And she was right," said Countess Mary with a happy smile.

"Yes, yes." And Nicholas, taking his little daughter in his strong hand,
lifted her high, placed her on his shoulder, held her by the legs, and
paced the room with her. There was an expression of carefree happiness
on the faces of both father and daughter.

"But you know you may be unfair. You are too fond of this one," his wife
whispered in French.

"Yes, but what am I to do?... I try not to show..."

At that moment they heard the sound of the door pulley and footsteps in
the hall and anteroom, as if someone had arrived.

"Somebody has come."

"I am sure it is Pierre. I will go and see," said Countess Mary and left
the room.

In her absence Nicholas allowed himself to give his little daughter a
gallop round the room. Out of breath, he took the laughing child quickly
from his shoulder and pressed her to