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"All well?" asked Rostov, drawing away his arm.

"Yes, God be thanked! Yes! They've just finished supper. Let me

have a look at you, your excellency."

"Is everything quite all right?"

"The Lord be thanked, yes!"

Rostov, who had completely forgotten Denisov, not wishing anyone

to forestall him, threw off his fur coat and ran on tiptoe

through the large dark ballroom. All was the same: there were the

same old card tables and the same chandelier with a cover over

it; but someone had already seen the young master, and, before he

had reached the drawing room, something flew out from a side door

like a tornado and began hugging and kissing him. Another and yet

another creature of the same kind sprang from a second door and a

third; more hugging, more kissing, more outcries, and tears of

joy. He could not distinguish which was Papa, which Natasha, and

which Petya. Everyone shouted, talked, and kissed him at the same

time. Only his mother was not there, he noticed that.