“Uncle” dismounted at the porch of his little wooden house which stood in the midst of an overgrown garden and, after a glance at his retainers, shouted authoritatively that the superfluous ones should take themselves off and that all necessary preparations should be made to receive the guests and the visitors.

The serfs all dispersed. “Uncle” lifted Natásha off her horse and taking her hand led her up the rickety wooden steps of the porch. The house, with its bare, unplastered log walls, was not overclean⁠—it did not seem that those living in it aimed at keeping it spotless⁠—but neither was it noticeably neglected. In the entry there was a smell of fresh apples, and wolf and fox skins hung about.