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Chapter 7

           

           Natáshathrewofftheshawlfromhershoulders,ranforwardtoface“Uncle,”andsettingherarmsakimboalsomadeamotionwithhershouldersandstruckanattitude.

           Where,how,andwhenhadthisyoungcountess,educatedbyanémigréeFrenchgoverness,imbibedfromtheRussianairshebreathedthatspiritandobtainedthatmannerwhichthepasdechâle*would,onewouldhavesupposed,longagohaveeffaced?ButthespiritandthemovementswerethoseinimitableandunteachableRussianonesthat“Uncle”hadexpectedofher.Assoonasshehadstruckherpose,andsmiledtriumphantly,proudly,andwithslymerriment,thefearthathadatfirstseizedNicholasandtheothersthatshemightnotdotherightthingwasatanend,andtheywerealreadyadmiringher.

           *TheFrenchshawldance.

           Shedidtherightthingwithsuchprecision,suchcompleteprecision,thatAnísyaFëdorovna,whohadatoncehandedherthehandkerchiefsheneededforthedance,hadtearsinhereyes,thoughshelaughedasshewatchedthisslim,gracefulcountess,rearedinsilksandvelvetsandsodifferentfromherself,whoyetwasabletounderstandallthatwasinAnísyaandinAnísya’sfatherandmotherandaunt,andineveryRussianmanandwoman.

           “Well,littlecountess;that’sit—comeon!”cried“Uncle,”withajoyouslaugh,havingfinishedthedance.“Welldone,niece!Nowafineyoungfellowmustbefoundashusbandforyou.That’sit—comeon!”

           “He’schosenalready,”saidNicholassmiling.

           “Oh?”said“Uncle”insurprise,lookinginquiringlyatNatásha,whonoddedherheadwithahappysmile.

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