“Well, then, you know,” Nikoláy went on, growing hot at the mere recollection of their discussion, “he wanted to convince me that it is every honest man’s duty to go against the government, and that the oath of allegiance and duty … I am sorry you weren’t there. They all fell on me—Denísov and Natásha … Natásha is absurd. How she rules over him! And yet there need only be a discussion and she has no words of her own but only repeats his sayings …” added Nikoláy, yielding to that irresistible inclination which tempts us to judge those nearest and dearest to us. He forgot that what he was saying about Natásha could have been applied word for word to himself in relation to his wife.
“Yes, I have noticed that,” said Countess Márya.
“When I told him that duty and the oath were above everything, he started proving goodness knows what! A pity you were not there—what would you have said?”
“As I see it you were quite right, and I told Natásha so. Pierre says everybody is suffering, tortured, and being corrupted, and that it is our duty to help our neighbor. Of course he is right there,” said Countess Márya, “but he forgets that we have other duties nearer to us, duties indicated to us by God Himself, and that though we might expose ourselves to risks we must not risk our children.”
“Yes, that’s it! That’s just what I said to him,” put in Nikoláy, who fancied he really had said it. “But they insisted on their own view: love of one’s neighbor and Christianity—and all this in the presence of Nikólenka, who had gone into my study and broke all my things.”
“Ah, Nicolas, do you know I am often troubled about Nikólenka,” said Countess Márya. “He is such an exceptional boy. I am afraid I neglect him in favor of my own: we all have children and relations while he has no one. He is constantly alone with his thoughts.”