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Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution.

She half rose, by a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to

listen to what was coming, and turning to her mother:

"Mamma!" rang out the clear contralto notes of her childish

voice, audible the whole length of the table.

"What is it?" asked the countess, startled; but seeing by her

daughter's face that it was only mischief, she shook a finger at

her sternly with a threatening and forbidding movement of her

head.

The conversation was hushed.

"Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?" and Natasha's voice

sounded still more firm and resolute.

The countess tried to frown, but could not. Marya Dmitrievna

shook her fat finger.

"Cossack!" she said threateningly.

Most of the guests, uncertain how to regard this sally, looked at

the elders.

"You had better take care!" said the countess.

"Mamma! What sweets are we going to have?" Natasha again cried

boldly, with saucy gaiety, confident that her prank would be

taken in good part.