She passed into the sitting room, stood there thinking awhile, and then went into the maids’ room. There an old maidservant was grumbling at a young girl who stood panting, having just run in through the cold from the serfs’ quarters.
“Stop playing—there’s a time for everything,” said the old woman.
“Let her alone, Kondrátevna,” said Natásha. “Go, Mavrúshka, go.”
Having released Mavrúshka, Natásha crossed the dancing hall and went to the vestibule. There an old footman and two young ones were playing cards. They broke off and rose as she entered.
“What can I do with them?” thought Natásha.
“Oh, Nikíta, please go … where can I send him? … Yes, go to the yard and fetch a fowl, please, a cock, and you, Misha, bring me some oats.”
“Just a few oats?” said Misha, cheerfully and readily.
“Go, go quickly,” the old man urged him.
“And you, Fëdor, get me a piece of chalk.”
On her way past the butler’s pantry she told them to set a samovar, though it was not at all the time for tea.
Fóka, the butler, was the most ill-tempered person in the house. Natásha liked to test her power over him. He distrusted the order and asked whether the samovar was really wanted.
“Oh dear, what a young lady!” said Fóka, pretending to frown at Natásha.
No one in the house sent people about or gave them as much trouble as Natásha did. She could not see people unconcernedly, but had to send