战争与和平(上)-第298章

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　remained　to　be　stored　away。
There　was　a　sound　of　rapid　footsteps　in　the　still　street。　The　steps　paused　at　the　gate；　the　latch　rattled　as　some　hand　tried　to　open　it。
Mavra　Kuzminishna　went　up　to　the　little　gate。
“Whom　do　you　want？”
“The　count；　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　Rostov。”
“But　who　are　you？”
“I　am　an　officer。　I　want　to　see　him；”　said　a　genial　voice；　the　voice　of　a　Russian　gentleman。
Mavra　Kuzminishna　opened　the　gate。　And　there　walked　into　the　courtyard　a　round…faced　officer；　a　lad　of　eighteen；　whose　type　of　face　strikingly　resembled　the　Rostovs’。
“They　have　gone　away；　sir。　Yesterday；　in　the　evening；　their　honours　set　off；”　said　Mavra　Kuzminishna　cordially。　The　young　officer　standing　in　the　gateway；　as　though　hesitating　whether　to　go　in　or　not；　gave　a　click　with　his　tongue　expressive　of　disappointment。
“Ah；　how　annoying！”　he　said。　“Yesterday　I　ought　to　…　Ah；　what　a　pity　…”
Meanwhile　Mavra　Kuzminishna　was　intently　and　sympathetically　scrutinising　the　familiar　features　of　the　Rostov　family　in　the　young　man’s　face；　and　the　tattered　cloak　and　trodden…down　boots　he　was　wearing。　“What　was　it　you　wanted　to　see　the　count　for？”　she　asked。
“Well　…　what　am　I　to　do　now！”　the　officer　cried；　with　vexation　in　his　voice；　and　he　took　hold　of　the　gate　as　though　intending　to　go　away。　He　stopped　short　again　in　uncertainty。
“You　see；”　he　said　all　at　once；　“I　am　a　kinsman　of　the　count’s；　and　he　has　always　been　very　kind　to　me。　So　do　you　see”　（he　looked　with　a　merry　and　good…humoured　smile　at　his　cloak　and　boots）　“I　am　in　rags；　and　haven’t　a　farthing；　so　I　had　meant　to　ask　the　count　…”
Mavra　Kuzminishna　did　not　let　him　finish。
“Would　you　wait　just　a　minute；　sir？　Only　one　minute；”　she　said。　And　as　soon　as　the　officer　let　go　of　the　gate；　Mavra　Kuzminishna　turned；　and　with　her　rapid；　elderly　step　hurried　into　the　back　court　to　her　lodge。
While　she　was　running　to　her　room；　the　officer；　with　downcast　head　and　a　faint　smile；　was　pacing　up　and　down　the　yard；　gazing　at　his　tattered　boots。
“What　a　pity　I　have　missed　uncle！　What　a　nice　old　body！　Where　has　she　run　off　to？　And　how　am　I　to　find　out　the　nearest　way　for　me　to　overtake　the　regiment；　which　must　be　at　Rogozhsky　by　now？”　the　young　officer　was　musing　meanwhile。　Mavra　Kuzminishna　came　round　the　corner　with　a　frightened　and；　at　the　same　time；　resolute　face；　carrying　in　her　hands　a　knotted　check　handkerchief。　A　few　steps　from　him；　she　untied　the　handkerchief；　took　out　of　it　a　white　twenty…five　rouble　note；　and　gave　it　hurriedly　to　the　officer。
“Had　his　excellency　been　at　home；　to　be　sure；　he　would　have　done　a　kinsman’s　part；　but　as　it　is　…　see；　may　be　…”　Mavra　Kuzminishna　was　overcome　with　shyness　and　confusion。　But　the　officer；　with　no　haste　nor　reluctance；　took　the　note；　and　thanked　Mavra　Kuzminishna。　“If　only　the　count　had　been　at　home；”　murmured　Mavra　Kuzminishna；　as　it　were　apologetically。　“Christ　be　with　you；　sir。　God　keep　you　safe；”　she　said；　bowing　and　showing　him　out。　The　officer；　smiling　and　shaking　his　head；　as　though　laughing　at　himself；　ran　almost　at　a　trot　along　the　empty　streets　to　overtake　his　regiment　at　Yauzsky　bridge。
But　for　some　time　Mavra　Kuzminishna　remained　standing　with　wet　eyes　before　the　closed　gate；　pensively　shaking　her　head；　and　feeling　a　sudden　rush　of　motherly　tenderness　and　pity　for　the　unknown　boy…officer。


Chapter　23
IN　AN　UNFINISHED　HOUSE　in　Varvarka；　the　lower　part　of　which　was　a　pot…house；　there　were　sounds　of　drunken　brawling　and　singing。　Some　ten　factory　hands　were　sitting　on　benches　at　tables　in　a　little；　dirty　room。　Tipsy；　sweating；　blear…eyed；　with　wide…gaping　mouths；　bloated　with　drink；　they　were　singing　some　sort　of　a　song。　They　were　singing　discordantly；　with　toil；　with　labour；　not　because　they　wanted　to　sing；　but　simply　to　betoken　that　they　were　drunk；　and　were　enjoying　themselves。　One　of　them；　a　tall；　flaxen…headed　fellow；　in　a　clean；　blue　long　coat　was　standing　over　the　rest。　His　face；　with　its　straight；　fine　nose；　would　have　been　handsome；　but　for　the　thick；　compressed；　continually　twitching　lips　and　the　lustreless；　staring；　and　frowning　eyes。　He　was　standing　over　the　singers；　and；　obviously　with　some　notion　in　his　head；　was　making　solemn　and　angular　passes　over　their　heads　with　his　bare；　white　arm；　while　he　tried　to　spread　his　dirty　fingers　out　unnaturally　wide　apart。　The　sleeve　of　his　coat　was　incessantly　slipping　down；　and　the　young　fellow　kept　carefully　tucking　it　up　again　with　his　left　hand；　as　though　there　was　something　of　special　significance　requiring　that　white；　sinewy；　waving　arm　to　be　bare。　In　the　middle　of　the　song；　shouts　and　blows　were　heard　in　the　passage　and　the　porch。　The　tall　fellow　waved　his　arms。
“Shut　up！”　he　shouted　peremptorily。　“A　fight；　lads！”　and　still　tucking　up　his　sleeves；　he　went　out　to　the　porch。
The　factory　hands　followed　him。　They　had　brought　the　tavern…　keeper　some　skins　that　morning　from　the　factory；　had　had　drink　given　them　for　this　service；　and　had　been　drinking　under　the　leadership　of　the　tall　young　man。　The　blacksmiths　working　in　a　smithy　hard　by　heard　the　sounds　of　revelry　in　the　pothouse；　and　supposing　the　house　had　been　forcibly　broken　into；　wanted　to　break　in　too。　A　conflict　was　going　on　in　the　porch。
The　tavern…keeper　was　fighting　with　a　blacksmith　in　the　doorway；　and　at　the　moment　when　the　factory　hands　emerged；　the　smith　had　reeled　away　from　the　tavern…keeper；　and　fallen　on　his　face　on　the　pavement。
Another　smith　dashed　in　at　the　door；　staggering　with　his　chest　against　the　tavern…keeper。
The　young　man　with　the　sleeve　tucked　up；　as　he　went；　dealt　a　blow　in　the　face　of　the　smith　who　had　dashed　in　at　the　door；　and　shouted　wildly：
“Lads！　they　are　beating　our　mates！”
Meanwhile；　the　smith　got　up　from　the　ground；　and　with　blood　spurting　from　his　bruised　face；　cried　in　a　wailing　voice：
“Help！　They　have　killed　me　…！　They　have　killed　a　man！　Mates！　…”
“Oy；　mercy　on　us；　killed　entirely；　a　man　killed！”　squealed　a　woman；　coming　out　of　the　gates　next　door。　A　crowd　of　people　gathered　round　the　blood…stained　smith。
“Haven’t　you　ruined　folks　enough；　stripping　the　shirts　off　their　backs？”　said　a　voice；　addressing　the　tavern…keeper；　“and　so　now　you　have　murdered　a　man！　Blackguard！”
The　tall　young　man　standing　on　the　steps　turned　his　bleared　eyes　from　the　tavern…keeper　to　the　smiths；　as　though　considering　with　which　to　fight。
“Cut…throat！”　he　cried　suddenly　at　the　tavern…keeper。　“Lads；　bind　him！”
“Indeed；　and　you　try　and　bind　a　man　like　me！”　bawled　the　tavern…keeper；　tearing　himself　away　from　the　men　who　threw　themselves　on　him；　and　taking　off　his　cap；　he　flung　it　on　the　ground。　As　though　this　act　had　some　mysterious　and　menacing　significance；　the　factory　hands；　who　had　surrounded　the　tavern…keeper；　stood　still　in　uncertainty。
“I　know　the　law；　mate；　very　well；　I　do。　I’ll　go　to　the　police。　Are　you　thinking　I　won’t　find　them？　Robbery’s　not　the　order　of　the　day　for　any　one！”　bawled　the　tavern…keeper；　picking　up　his　cap。
“And　go　we　will；　so　there！”　…　“And　go　we　will　…　so　there！”　the　tavern…keeper　and　the　tall　fellow　repeated　after　one　another；　and　both　together　moved　forward　along　the　street。　The　blood…bespattered　smith　walked　on　a　level　with　them。　The　factory…hands　and　a　mob　of　outsiders　followed　them　with　talk　and　shouting。
At　the　corner　of　Maroseyka；　opposite　a　great　house　with　closed　shutters；　and　the　signboard　of　a　bootmaker；　stood　a　group　of　some　twenty　bootmakers；　thin；　exhausted…looking　men；　with　dejected　faces；　in　loose　smocks；　and　torn　coats。
“He　ought　to　pay　folks　properly！”　a　thin　boot　hand；　with　a　scant　beard　and　scowling　brows；　was　saying。　“He’s　sucked　the　life…blood　out　of　us；　and　then　he’s　quit　of　us。　He’s　been　promising　and　promising　us　all　the　week。　And　now　he’s　driven　us　to　the　last　point；　and　he’s　made　off。”　Seeing　the　mob　and　the　blood…bespattered　smith；　the　man　paused；　and　the　bootmakers　with　inquisitive　eagerness　joined　the　moving　crowd。
“Where　are　the　folks　going？”
“Going　to　the　police；　to　be　sure。”
“Is　it　true　we　are　beaten？”
“Why；　what　did　you　think？　Look　what　folks　are　saying！”
Questions　and　answers　were　audible。　The　tavern…keeper；　taking　advantage　of　the　increased　numbers　of　the