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It
was
the
custom
for
Mítka
to
play
the
balaláyka
in
the
huntsmen
's
room
when
"
Uncle
"
returned
from
the
chase
.
"
Uncle
"
was
fond
of
such
music
.
"
How
good
!
Really
very
good
!
"
said
Nicholas
with
some
unintentional
superciliousness
,
as
if
ashamed
to
confess
that
the
sounds
pleased
him
very
much
.
"
Very
good
?
"
said
Natásha
reproachfully
,
noticing
her
brother
's
tone
.
"
Not
'
very
good
'
--
it
's
simply
delicious
!
"
Just
as
"
Uncle
's
"
pickled
mushrooms
,
honey
,
and
cherry
brandy
had
seemed
to
her
the
best
in
the
world
,
so
also
that
song
,
at
that
moment
,
seemed
to
her
the
acme
of
musical
delight
.
"
More
,
please
,
more
!
"
cried
Natásha
at
the
door
as
soon
as
the
balaláyka
ceased
.
Mítka
tuned
up
afresh
,
and
recommenced
thrumming
the
balaláyka
to
the
air
of
My
Lady
,
with
trills
and
variations
.
"
Uncle
"
sat
listening
,
slightly
smiling
,
with
his
head
on
one
side
.
The
air
was
repeated
a
hundred
times
.
The
balaláyka
was
retuned
several
times
and
the
same
notes
were
thrummed
again
,
but
the
listeners
did
not
grow
weary
of
it
and
wished
to
hear
it
again
and
again
.
Anísya
Fëdorovna
came
in
and
leaned
her
portly
person
against
the
doorpost
.
"
You
like
listening
?
"
she
said
to
Natásha
,
with
a
smile
extremely
like
"
Uncle
's
.
"
"
That
's
a
good
player
of
ours
,
"
she
added
.
"
He
does
n't
play
that
part
right
!
"
said
"
Uncle
"
suddenly
,
with
an
energetic
gesture
.
"
Here
he
ought
to
burst
out
--
that
's
it
,
come
on
!
--
ought
to
burst
out
.
"
"
Do
you
play
then
?
"
asked
Natásha
.
"
Uncle
"
did
not
answer
,
but
smiled
.
