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In a neighboring hut lay Ravski’s adjutant with a fractured wrist. The awful pain he suffered made him moan incessantly and piteously, and his moaning sounded terrible in the darkness of the autumn night. He had spent the first night in the same yard as the Rostvs. The countess said she had been unable to close her eyes on account of his moaning, and at Mytshchi she moved into a worse hut simply to be farther away from the wounded man.
In the darkness of the night one of the servants noticed, above the high body of a coach standing before the porch, the small glow of another fire. One glow had long been visible and everybody knew that it was Little Mytshchi burning—set on fire by Mamnov’s Cossacks.
“But look here, brothers, there’s another fire!” remarked an orderly.
All turned their attention to the glow.
“But they told us Little Mytshchi had been set on fire by Mamnov’s Cossacks.”
“But that’s not Mytshchi, it’s farther away.”
“Look, it must be in Moscow!”
Two of the gazers went round to the other side of the coach and sat down on its steps.
“It’s more to the left, why, Little Mytshchi is over there, and this is right on the other side.”
Several men joined the first two.
“See how it’s flaring,” said one. “That’s a fire in Moscow: either in the Sushchvski or the Rogzhski quarter.”
No one replied to this remark and for some time they all gazed silently at the spreading flames of the second fire in the distance.
Old Daniel Terntich, the count’s valet (as he was called), came up to the group and shouted at Mshka.
“What are you staring at, you good-for-nothing?... The count will be calling and there’s nobody there; go and gather the clothes together.”
“I only ran out to get some water,” said Mshka.
“But what do you think, Daniel Terntich? Doesn’t it look as if that glow were in Moscow?” remarked one of the footmen.
Daniel Terntich made no reply, and again for a long time they were all silent. The glow spread, rising and falling, farther and farther still.
“God have mercy.... It’s windy and dry...” said another voice.
“Just look! See what it’s doing now. O Lord! You can even see the crows flying. Lord have mercy on us sinners!”
“They’ll put it out, no fear!”
“Who’s to put it out?” Daniel Terntich, who had hitherto been silent, was heard to say. His voice was calm and deliberate. “Moscow it is, brothers,” said he. “Mother Moscow, the white...” his voice faltered, and he gave way to an old man’s sob.
And it was as if they had all only waited for this to realize the significance for them of the glow they were watching. Sighs were heard, words of prayer, and the sobbing of the count’s old valet.
The valet, returning to the cottage, informed the count that Moscow was burning. The count donned his dressing gown and went out to look. Snya and Madame Schoss, who had not yet undressed, went out with him. Only Natsha and the countess remained in the room. Ptya was no longer with the family, he had gone on with his regiment which was making for Tritsa.
The countess, on hearing that Moscow was on fire, began to cry. Natsha, pale, with a fixed look, was sitting on the bench under the icons just where she had sat down on arriving and paid no attention to her father’s words. She was listening to the ceaseless moaning of the adjutant, three houses off.
“Oh, how terrible,” said Snya returning from the yard chilled and frightened. “I believe the whole of Moscow will burn, there’s an awful glow! Natsha, do look! You can see it from the window,” she said to her cousin, evidently wishing to distract her mind.
But Natsha looked at her as if not understanding what was said to her and again fixed her eyes on the corner of the stove. She had been in this condition of stupor since the morning, when Snya, to the surprise and annoyance of the countess, had for some unaccountable reason found it necessary to tell Natsha of Prince Andrew’s wound and of his being with their party. The countess had seldom been so angry with anyone as she was with Snya. Snya had cried and begged to be forgiven and now, as if trying to atone for her fault, paid unceasing attention to her cousin.
“Look, Natsha, how dreadfully it is burning!” said she.
“What’s burning?” asked Natsha. “Oh, yes, Moscow.”
And as if in order not to offend Snya and to get rid of her, she turned her face to the window, looked out in such a way that it was evident that she could not see anything, and again settled down in her former attitude.
“But you didn’t see it!”
“Yes, really I did,” Natsha replied in a voice that pleaded to be left in peace.
Both the countess and Snya understood that, naturally, neither Moscow nor the burning of Moscow nor anything else could seem of importance to Natsha.
The count returned and lay down behind the partition. The countess went up to her daughter and touched her head with the back of her hand as she was wont to do when Natsha was ill, then touched her forehead with her lips as if to feel whether she was feverish, and finally kissed her.
“You are cold. You are trembling all over. You’d better lie down,” said the countess.
“Lie down? All right, I will. I’ll lie down at once,” said Natsha.
When Natsha had been told that morning that Prince Andrew was seriously wounded and was traveling with their party, she had at first asked many questions: Where was he going? How was he wounded? Was it serious? And could she see him? But after she had been told that she could not see him, that he was seriously wounded but that his life was not in danger, she ceased to ask questions or to speak at all, evidently disbelieving what they told her, and convinced that say what she might she would still be told the same. All the way she had sat motionless in a corner of the coach with wide open eyes, and the expression in them which the countess knew so well and feared so much, and now she sat in the same way on the bench where she had seated herself on arriving. She was planning something and either deciding or had already decided something in her mind. The countess knew this, but what it might be she did not know, and this alarmed and tormented her.
“Natsha, undress, darling; lie down on my bed.”
