girl with glittering black eyes and curly blue-black hair, wearing a red shawl, ran out with a sable mantle on her arm.
“Here, I don’t grudge it—take it!” she said, evidently afraid of her master and yet regretful of her cloak.
Dólokhov, without answering, took the cloak, threw it over Matrësha, and wrapped her up in it.
“That’s the way,” said Dólokhov, “and then so!” and he turned the collar up round her head, leaving only a little of the face uncovered.
“And then so, do you see?” and he pushed Anatole’s head forward to meet the gap left by the collar, through which Matrësha’s brilliant smile was seen.
“Well, goodbye, Matrësha,” said Anatole, kissing her. “Ah, my revels here are over. Remember me to Stëshka. There, goodbye! Goodbye, Matrësha, wish me luck!”
“Well, Prince, may God give you