A silence ensued. The countess looked at her visitor, smiling pleasantly, without, however, concealing the fact that she would not be at all sorry now if the visitor got up and left. The visitor's daughter was already adjusting her dress, looking inquiringly at her mother, when suddenly from the next room was heard the running to the door of several men's and women's feet, the crash of a caught and overturned chair, and a thirteen-year-old girl ran into the room, wrapping something in her short muslin skirt, and stopped in the middle of the room. It was evident she had accidentally, from an uncalculated run, jumped so far. At the same moment there appeared in the doorway a student with a crimson collar, a Guards officer, a fifteen-year-old girl, and a plump, rosy boy in a child's jacket.

The count jumped up and, swaying, spread his arms wide around the girl who had run in.

— Ah, here she is! — he cried laughing. — The name-day girl! Ma chère, the name-day girl!

Ma chère, il y a un temps pour tout, — said the countess, pretending to be severe. — You spoil her so, Élie, — she added to her husband.

Bonjour, ma chère, je vous félicite, — said the visitor. — Quelle délicieuse enfant! — she added, turning to the mother.

The black-eyed, large-mouthed, plain, but lively girl, with her childish bare shoulders, which had popped out of her bodice from her rapid run, with her black curls tumbled back, her thin bare arms and tiny feet in lace pantaloons and low shoes, was at that charming age when a girl is no longer a child, but the child is not yet a young woman. Twisting away from her father, she ran up to her mother and, paying no attention whatever to her severe remark, hid her flushed face in the lace of her mother's mantilla and laughed. She was laughing at something, talking jerkily about a doll, which she took out from under her skirt.

— Do you see?... A doll... Mimi... Do you see.

And Natásha could not speak anymore (it all seemed funny to her). She fell against her mother and burst out laughing so loudly and ringingly that everyone, even the prim visitor, laughed against their will.

— Come, go, go away with your monster! — said the mother, pushing her daughter away with feigned anger. — This is my youngest, — she turned to the visitor.

Natásha, tearing her face for a moment from her mother's lace kerchief, looked up at her through tears of laughter and again hid her face.

The visitor, compelled to admire the family scene, thought it necessary to take some part in it.

— Tell me, my dear, — she said, turning to Natásha, — how is this Mimi related to you? A daughter, surely?

Natásha did not like the tone of condescension to childish talk with which the visitor addressed her. She answered nothing and looked seriously at the visitor.

Meanwhile all this younger generation: Borís, the officer, the son of Princess Anna Mikháylovna; Nikoláy, the student, the count's eldest son; Sónya, the count's fifteen-year-old niece; and little Petrúsha, the youngest son, had all settled down in the drawing room and were evidently trying to keep within the bounds of propriety the animation and mirth that still breathed in their every feature. It was evident that there, in the back rooms, from which they had all come running so impetuously, they had had conversations more amusing than here about town gossip, the weather, and comtesse Apraksine. Occasionally they glanced at one another and could hardly restrain their laughter.

The two young men, the student and the officer, friends from childhood, were of the same age and both handsome, but not like each other. Borís was a tall, fair youth with regular, delicate features on a calm and handsome face; Nikoláy was a short, curly-haired young man with an open expression. A dark down was already showing on his upper lip, and his whole face expressed impetuosity and enthusiasm. Nikoláy blushed as soon as he entered the drawing room. It was evident that he sought and could not find what to say; Borís, on the contrary, immediately found himself and related calmly and jokingly how he had known this Mimi doll when she was still a young girl with a nose that was not yet spoiled, how in five years, in his memory, she had grown old, and how her head had cracked right across the skull. Having said this, he looked at Natásha. Natásha turned away from him, looked at her younger brother, who, with his eyes squeezed shut, was shaking with soundless laughter, and, unable to contain herself any longer, jumped up and ran out of the room as fast as her swift little feet could carry her. Borís did not laugh.

— You too were wanting to go, I think, maman? Shall I order the carriage? — he said, turning with a smile to his mother.

— Yes, go, go, order it to be got ready, — she said, smiling.

Borís quietly went out the door and went after Natásha; the plump boy ran angrily after them, as if vexed at the disturbance that had occurred in his occupations.