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"
No
,
Papa
.
Forgive
me
if
I
have
caused
you
unpleasantness
.
I
understand
it
all
less
than
you
do
.
"
"
Devil
take
all
these
peasants
,
and
money
matters
,
and
carryings
forward
from
page
to
page
,
"
he
thought
.
"
I
used
to
understand
what
a
'
corner
'
and
the
stakes
at
cards
meant
,
but
carrying
forward
to
another
page
I
do
n't
understand
at
all
,
"
said
he
to
himself
,
and
after
that
he
did
not
meddle
in
business
affairs
.
But
once
the
countess
called
her
son
and
informed
him
that
she
had
a
promissory
note
from
Anna
Mikháylovna
for
two
thousand
rubles
,
and
asked
him
what
he
thought
of
doing
with
it
.
"
This
,
"
answered
Nicholas
.
"
You
say
it
rests
with
me
.
Well
,
I
do
n't
like
Anna
Mikháylovna
and
I
do
n't
like
Borís
,
but
they
were
our
friends
and
poor
.
Well
then
,
this
!
"
and
he
tore
up
the
note
,
and
by
so
doing
caused
the
old
countess
to
weep
tears
of
joy
.
After
that
,
young
Rostóv
took
no
further
part
in
any
business
affairs
,
but
devoted
himself
with
passionate
enthusiasm
to
what
was
to
him
a
new
pursuit
--
the
chase
--
for
which
his
father
kept
a
large
establishment
.
The
weather
was
already
growing
wintry
and
morning
frosts
congealed
an
earth
saturated
by
autumn
rains
.
The
verdure
had
thickened
and
its
bright
green
stood
out
sharply
against
the
brownish
strips
of
winter
rye
trodden
down
by
the
cattle
,
and
against
the
pale-yellow
stubble
of
the
spring
buckwheat
.
The
wooded
ravines
and
the
copses
,
which
at
the
end
of
August
had
still
been
green
islands
amid
black
fields
and
stubble
,
had
become
golden
and
bright-red
islands
amid
the
green
winter
rye
.
The
hares
had
already
half
changed
their
summer
coats
,
the
fox
cubs
were
beginning
to
scatter
,
and
the
young
wolves
were
bigger
than
dogs
.
It
was
the
best
time
of
the
year
for
the
chase
.
The
hounds
of
that
ardent
young
sportsman
Rostóv
had
not
merely
reached
hard
winter
condition
,
but
were
so
jaded
that
at
a
meeting
of
the
huntsmen
it
was
decided
to
give
them
a
three
days
'
rest
and
then
,
on
the
sixteenth
of
September
,
to
go
on
a
distant
expedition
,
starting
from
the
oak
grove
where
there
was
an
undisturbed
litter
of
wolf
cubs
.
All
that
day
the
hounds
remained
at
home
.
It
was
frosty
and
the
air
was
sharp
,
but
toward
evening
the
sky
became
overcast
and
it
began
to
thaw
.
On
the
fifteenth
,
when
young
Rostóv
,
in
his
dressing
gown
,
looked
out
of
the
window
,
he
saw
it
was
an
unsurpassable
morning
for
hunting
:
it
was
as
if
the
sky
were
melting
and
sinking
to
the
earth
without
any
wind
.
The
only
motion
in
the
air
was
that
of
the
dripping
,
microscopic
particles
of
drizzling
mist
.
The
bare
twigs
in
the
garden
were
hung
with
transparent
drops
which
fell
on
the
freshly
fallen
leaves
.
The
earth
in
the
kitchen
garden
looked
wet
and
black
and
glistened
like
poppy
seed
and
at
a
short
distance
merged
into
the
dull
,
moist
veil
of
mist
.
Nicholas
went
out
into
the
wet
and
muddy
porch
.
There
was
a
smell
of
decaying
leaves
and
of
dog
.
Mílka
,
a
black-spotted
,
broad-haunched
bitch
with
prominent
black
eyes
,
got
up
on
seeing
her
master
,
stretched
her
hind
legs
,
lay
down
like
a
hare
,
and
then
suddenly
jumped
up
and
licked
him
right
on
his
nose
and
mustache
.
Another
borzoi
,
a
dog
,
catching
sight
of
his
master
from
the
garden
path
,
arched
his
back
and
,
rushing
headlong
toward
the
porch
with
lifted
tail
,
began
rubbing
himself
against
his
legs
.
"
O-hoy
!
"
came
at
that
moment
,
that
inimitable
huntsman
's
call
which
unites
the
deepest
bass
with
the
shrillest
tenor
,
and
round
the
corner
came
Daniel
the
head
huntsman
and
head
kennelman
,
a
gray
,
wrinkled
old
man
with
hair
cut
straight
over
his
forehead
,
Ukrainian
fashion
,
a
long
bent
whip
in
his
hand
,
and
that
look
of
independence
and
scorn
of
everything
that
is
only
seen
in
huntsmen
.
He
doffed
his
Circassian
cap
to
his
master
and
looked
at
him
scornfully
.
This
scorn
was
not
offensive
to
his
master
.
Nicholas
knew
that
this
Daniel
,
disdainful
of
everybody
and
who
considered
himself
above
them
,
was
all
the
same
his
serf
and
huntsman
.
"
Daniel
!
"
Nicholas
said
timidly
,
conscious
at
the
sight
of
the
weather
,
the
hounds
,
and
the
huntsman
that
he
was
being
carried
away
by
that
irresistible
passion
for
sport
which
makes
a
man
forget
all
his
previous
resolutions
,
as
a
lover
forgets
in
the
presence
of
his
mistress
.
"
What
orders
,
your
excellency
?
"
said
the
huntsman
in
his
deep
bass
,
deep
as
a
proto-deacon
's
and
hoarse
with
hallooing
--
and
two
flashing
black
eyes
gazed
from
under
his
brows
at
his
master
,
who
was
silent
.
"
Can
you
resist
it
?
"
those
eyes
seemed
to
be
asking
.
"
It
's
a
good
day
,
eh
?
For
a
hunt
and
a
gallop
,
eh
?
"
asked
Nicholas
,
scratching
Mílka
behind
the
ears
.
