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Chapter 17

           

           “Andwhere’sthefurcloak?”askedDólokhov.“Hey,Ignátka!GotoMatrënaMatrévnaandaskherforthesablecloak.Ihaveheardwhatelopementsarelike,”continuedDólokhovwithawink.“Why,she’llrushoutmoredeadthanalivejustinthethingssheiswearing;ifyoudelayatallthere’llbetearsand‘Papa’and‘Mamma,’andshe’sfrozeninaminuteandmustgoback—butyouwrapthefurcloakroundherfirstthingandcarryhertothesleigh.”

           Thevaletbroughtawoman’sfox-linedcloak.

           “Fool,Itoldyouthesableone!Hey,Matrëna,thesable!”heshoutedsothathisvoicerangfarthroughtherooms.

           Ahandsome,slim,andpale-facedgypsygirlwithglitteringblackeyesandcurlyblue-blackhair,wearingaredshawl,ranoutwithasablemantleonherarm.

           “Here,Idon’tgrudgeit—takeit!”shesaid,evidentlyafraidofhermasterandyetregretfulofhercloak.

           Dólokhov,withoutanswering,tookthecloak,threwitoverMatrëna,andwrappedherupinit.

           “That’stheway,”saidDólokhov,“andthenso!”andheturnedthecollaruproundherhead,leavingonlyalittleofthefaceuncovered.“Andthenso,doyousee?”andhepushedAnatole’sheadforwardtomeetthegapleftbythecollar,throughwhichMatrëna’sbrilliantsmilewasseen.

           “Well,good-by,Matrëna,”saidAnatole,kissingher.“Ah,myrevelshereareover.RemembermetoStëshka.There,good-by!Good-by,Matrëna,wishmeluck!”

           “Well,Prince,mayGodgiveyougreatluck!”saidMatrënainhergypsyaccent.

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