night was dark and damp. They could not see the horses, but only heard them splashing through the unseen mud.
What was passing in that receptive childlike soul that so eagerly caught and assimilated all the diverse impressions of life? How did they all find place in her? But she was very happy. As they were nearing home she suddenly struck up the air of “As ’twas growing dark last night”—the tune of which she had all the way been trying to get and had at last caught.
“Got it?” said Nikoláy.
“What were you thinking about just now, Nikoláy?” inquired Natásha.
They were fond of asking one another that question.
“I?” said Nikoláy, trying to remember. “Well, you see, first I thought that Rugáy, the red hound, was like Uncle, and that if he were a man he would always keep Uncle near him, if not for his riding, then for his manner. What a good fellow Uncle is! Don’t you think so? … Well, and you?”
“I? Wait a bit, wait. … Yes, first I thought that we are driving along and imagining that we are going home, but that heaven knows where we are really going in the darkness, and that we shall arrive and suddenly find that we are not in Otrádnoe, but in Fairyland. And then I thought … No, nothing else.”
“I know, I expect you thought of him,” said Nikoláy, smiling as Natásha knew by the sound of his voice.
“No,” said Natásha, though she had in reality been thinking about Prince Andréy at the same time as of the rest, and of how he would have liked “Uncle.” “And then I was saying to myself all the way, ‘How well Anísyushka carried herself, how well!’ ” And Nikoláy heard her