Onenightwhentheoldcountess, innightcapanddressingjacket, withoutherfalsecurls, andwithherpoorlittleknobofhairshowingunderherwhitecottoncap, kneltsighingandgroaningonarugandbowingtothegroundinprayer, herdoorcreakedandNatasha, alsoinadressingjacketwithslippersonherbarefeetandherhairincurlpapers, —herprayerfulmooddispelled—: "Canitbethatthiscouchwillbemygrave?" Natasha, flushedandeager, seeinghermotherinprayer, suddenlycheckedherrush, halfsatdown, , rapidlyslippingonelittlefootagainsttheother, , , sankintothefeatherbed, rolledovertothewall, andbegansnugglingupthebedclothesasshesettleddown, raisingherkneestoherchin, kickingoutandlaughingalmostinaudibly, nowcoveringherselfupheadandall, , butseeing, thatNatasha'sheadwascovered, shesmiledinherkind, weakway.
"Nowthen, nowthen!" saidshe.
"Mamma, canwehaveatalk? Yes?" saidNatasha."Now, justoneonyourthroatandanother...that'lldo!" Andseizinghermotherroundtheneck, , butshewassosensitiveandtactfulthathoweversheclaspedhermothershealwaysmanagedtodoitwithouthurtingherormakingherfeeluncomfortableordispleased.
"Well, whatisittonight?" saidthemother, havingarrangedherpillowsandwaiteduntilNatasha, afterturningoveracoupleoftimes, hadsettleddownbesideherunderthequilt, spreadoutherarms, andassumedaseriousexpression.
ThesevisitsofNatasha'satnightbeforethecountreturnedfromhisclubwereoneofthegreatestpleasuresofbothmother, anddaughter.
"Whatisittonight?—ButIhavetotellyou..."
Natashaputherhandonhermother'smouth.
