do you want of him? You know you can’t marry him.”
“Why not?” said Natásha, without changing her position.
“Because he is young, because he is poor, because he is a relation … and because you yourself don’t love him.”
“How do you know?”
“I know. It is not right, darling!”
“But if I want to …” said Natásha.
“Leave off talking nonsense,” said the countess.
“But if I want to …”
“Natásha, I am in earnest …”
Natásha did not let her finish. She drew the countess’ large hand to her, kissed it on the back and then on the palm, then again turned it over and began kissing first one knuckle, then the space between the knuckles, then the next knuckle, whispering, “January, February, March, April, May. Speak, Mamma, why don’t you say anything? Speak!” said she, turning to her mother, who was tenderly