and governesses made their bows, and they went out. Only young Nikólenka and his tutor remained. Dessalles whispered to the boy to come downstairs.
“No, Monsieur Dessalles, I will ask my aunt to let me stay,” replied Nikólenka Bolkónski also in a whisper.
“ Ma tante , please let me stay,” said he, going up to his aunt.
His face expressed entreaty, agitation, and ecstasy. Countess Márya glanced at him and turned to Pierre.
“When you are here he can’t tear himself away,” she said.
“I will bring him to you directly, Monsieur Dessalles. Good night!” said Pierre, giving his hand to the Swiss tutor, and he turned to Nikólenka with a smile.
“You and I haven’t seen anything of one another yet. … How like he is growing, Márya!”
he added, addressing Countess Márya.
“Like my father?” asked the boy, flushing crimson and looking