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"What are you making such a noise about over there?" Marya

Dmitrievna's deep voice suddenly inquired from the other end of

the table. "What are you thumping the table for?" she demanded of

the hussar, "and why are you exciting yourself? Do you think the

French are here?"

"I am speaking ze truce," replied the hussar with a smile.

"It's all about the war," the count shouted down the table. "You

know my son's going, Marya Dmitrievna? My son is going."

"I have four sons in the army but still I don't fret. It is all

in God's hands. You may die in your bed or God may spare you in a

battle," replied Marya Dmitrievna's deep voice, which easily

carried the whole length of the table.

"That's true!"

Once more the conversations concentrated, the ladies' at the one

end and the men's at the other.

"You won't ask," Natasha's little brother was saying; "I know you

won't ask!"

"I will," replied Natasha.