its cloth covering, and the harp gave out a jarring sound.
“Eduárd Karlých, please play my favorite nocturne by Field,” came the old countess’ voice from the drawing room.
Dimmler struck a chord and, turning to Natásha, Nikoláy, and Sónya, remarked: “How quiet you young people are!”
“Yes, we’re philosophizing,” said Natásha, glancing round for a moment and then continuing the conversation. They were now discussing dreams.
Dimmler began to play; Natásha went on tiptoe noiselessly to the table, took up a candle, carried it out, and returned, seating herself quietly in her former place. It was dark in the room especially where they were sitting on the sofa, but through the big windows the silvery light of the full moon fell on the floor. Dimmler had finished the piece but still sat softly running his fingers over the strings, evidently uncertain whether to stop or to play something else.