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- Стр. 931/1273
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"
No
,
it
's
not
he
.
How
can
you
talk
such
nonsense
?
"
"
Mamma
,
"
screamed
Natásha
,
"
I
'll
stake
my
head
it
's
he
!
I
assure
you
!
Stop
,
stop
!
"
she
cried
to
the
coachman
.
But
the
coachman
could
not
stop
,
for
from
the
Meshchánski
Street
came
more
carts
and
carriages
,
and
the
Rostóvs
were
being
shouted
at
to
move
on
and
not
block
the
way
.
In
fact
,
however
,
though
now
much
farther
off
than
before
,
the
Rostóvs
all
saw
Pierre
--
or
someone
extraordinarily
like
him
--
in
a
coachman
's
coat
,
going
down
the
street
with
head
bent
and
a
serious
face
beside
a
small
,
beardless
old
man
who
looked
like
a
footman
.
That
old
man
noticed
a
face
thrust
out
of
the
carriage
window
gazing
at
them
,
and
respectfully
touching
Pierre
's
elbow
said
something
to
him
and
pointed
to
the
carriage
.
Pierre
,
evidently
engrossed
in
thought
,
could
not
at
first
understand
him
.
At
length
when
he
had
understood
and
looked
in
the
direction
the
old
man
indicated
,
he
recognized
Natásha
,
and
following
his
first
impulse
stepped
instantly
and
rapidly
toward
the
coach
.
But
having
taken
a
dozen
steps
he
seemed
to
remember
something
and
stopped
.
Natásha
's
face
,
leaning
out
of
the
window
,
beamed
with
quizzical
kindliness
.
"
Peter
Kirílovich
,
come
here
!
We
have
recognized
you
!
This
is
wonderful
!
"
she
cried
,
holding
out
her
hand
to
him
.
"
What
are
you
doing
?
Why
are
you
like
this
?
"
Pierre
took
her
outstretched
hand
and
kissed
it
awkwardly
as
he
walked
along
beside
her
while
the
coach
still
moved
on
.
"
What
is
the
matter
,
Count
?
"
asked
the
countess
in
a
surprised
and
commiserating
tone
.
"
What
?
What
?
Why
?
Do
n't
ask
me
,
"
said
Pierre
,
and
looked
round
at
Natásha
whose
radiant
,
happy
expression
--
of
which
he
was
conscious
without
looking
at
her
--
filled
him
with
enchantment
.
