and more merrily and heartily, they started singing, dancing, and playing Christmas games. The countess, when she had identified them and laughed at their costumes, went into the drawing room. The count sat in the ballroom, smiling radiantly and applauding the players. The young people had disappeared.
Half an hour later there appeared among the other mummers in the ballroom an old lady in a hooped skirt—this was Nikoláy.
- A Turkish girl was Pétya.
- A clown was Dimmler.
- An hussar was Natásha, and a Circassian was Sónya with burnt-cork mustache and eyebrows.
After the condescending surprise, non-recognition, and praise, from those who were not themselves dressed up, the young people decided that their costumes were so good that they ought to be shown elsewhere.
Nikoláy, who, as the roads were in splendid condition, wanted to take them all for a drive in his troyka, proposed to take with them about a dozen of the serf mummers and drive to “Uncle’s.”
“No, why disturb the old fellow?” said the countess. “Besides, you wouldn’t have room to turn round there. If you must go, go to the Melyukóvs’.”
Melyukóva was a widow, who, with her family and their tutors and governesses, lived three miles from the Rostóvs.
“That’s right, my dear,” chimed in the old count, thoroughly aroused. “I’ll dress up at once and go with them. I’ll make Pashette open her eyes.”
But the countess would not agree to his going; he had had a bad leg all these last days. It was decided that the count must not go, but that if Luíza Ivánovna (Madame Schoss) would go with them, the young ladies might go to the Melyukóvs’, Sónya, generally so timid and