-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Лев Толстой
-
- Война и мир
-
- Стр. 544/1273
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Good
morning
,
good
morning
!
But
do
n't
go
overriding
the
hounds
,
"
said
"
Uncle
"
sternly
.
"
Nicholas
,
what
a
fine
dog
Truníla
is
!
He
knew
me
,
"
said
Natásha
,
referring
to
her
favorite
hound
.
"
In
the
first
place
,
Truníla
is
not
a
'
dog
,
'
but
a
harrier
,
"
thought
Nicholas
,
and
looked
sternly
at
his
sister
,
trying
to
make
her
feel
the
distance
that
ought
to
separate
them
at
that
moment
.
Natásha
understood
it
.
"
You
must
n't
think
we
'll
be
in
anyone
's
way
,
Uncle
,
"
she
said
.
"
We
'll
go
to
our
places
and
wo
n't
budge
.
"
"
A
good
thing
too
,
little
countess
,
"
said
"
Uncle
,
"
"
only
mind
you
do
n't
fall
off
your
horse
,
"
he
added
,
"
because
--
that
's
it
,
come
on
!
--
you
've
nothing
to
hold
on
to
.
"
The
oasis
of
the
Otrádnoe
covert
came
in
sight
a
few
hundred
yards
off
,
the
huntsmen
were
already
nearing
it
.
Rostóv
,
having
finally
settled
with
"
Uncle
"
where
they
should
set
on
the
hounds
,
and
having
shown
Natásha
where
she
was
to
stand
--
a
spot
where
nothing
could
possibly
run
out
--
went
round
above
the
ravine
.
"
Well
,
nephew
,
you
're
going
for
a
big
wolf
,
"
said
"
Uncle
.
"
"
Mind
and
do
n't
let
her
slip
!
"
"
That
's
as
may
happen
,
"
answered
Rostóv
.
"
Karáy
,
here
!
"
he
shouted
,
answering
"
Uncle
's
"
remark
by
this
call
to
his
borzoi
.
Karáy
was
a
shaggy
old
dog
with
a
hanging
jowl
,
famous
for
having
tackled
a
big
wolf
unaided
.
They
all
took
up
their
places
.
The
old
count
,
knowing
his
son
's
ardor
in
the
hunt
,
hurried
so
as
not
to
be
late
,
and
the
huntsmen
had
not
yet
reached
their
places
when
Count
Ilyá
Rostóv
,
cheerful
,
flushed
,
and
with
quivering
cheeks
,
drove
up
with
his
black
horses
over
the
winter
rye
to
the
place
reserved
for
him
,
where
a
wolf
might
come
out
.
Having
straightened
his
coat
and
fastened
on
his
hunting
knives
and
horn
,
he
mounted
his
good
,
sleek
,
well-fed
,
and
comfortable
horse
,
Viflyánka
,
which
was
turning
gray
,
like
himself
.
His
horses
and
trap
were
sent
home
.
Count
Ilyá
Rostóv
,
though
not
at
heart
a
keen
sportsman
,
knew
the
rules
of
the
hunt
well
,
and
rode
to
the
bushy
edge
of
the
road
where
he
was
to
stand
,
arranged
his
reins
,
settled
himself
in
the
saddle
,
and
,
feeling
that
he
was
ready
,
looked
about
with
a
smile
.
Beside
him
was
Simon
Chekmár
,
his
personal
attendant
,
an
old
horseman
now
somewhat
stiff
in
the
saddle
.
Chekmár
held
in
leash
three
formidable
wolfhounds
,
who
had
,
however
,
grown
fat
like
their
master
and
his
horse
.
Two
wise
old
dogs
lay
down
unleashed
.
Some
hundred
paces
farther
along
the
edge
of
the
wood
stood
Mítka
,
the
count
's
other
groom
,
a
daring
horseman
and
keen
rider
to
hounds
.
Before
the
hunt
,
by
old
custom
,
the
count
had
drunk
a
silver
cupful
of
mulled
brandy
,
taken
a
snack
,
and
washed
it
down
with
half
a
bottle
of
his
favorite
Bordeaux
.
