War and Peace - The Original Classic Edition. Leo Tolstoy

"You are most welcome! I know, I know," said the count, kissing and embracing Denisov. "Nicholas wrote us... Natasha, Vera, look!

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       Here is Denisov!"

       The same happy, rapturous faces turned to the shaggy figure of Denisov.

       "Darling Denisov!" screamed Natasha, beside herself with rapture, springing to him, putting her arms round him, and kissing him. This escapade made everybody feel confused. Denisov blushed too, but smiled and, taking Natasha's hand, kissed it.

       Denisov was shown to the room prepared for him, and the Rostovs all gathered round Nicholas in the sitting room.

       The old countess, not letting go of his hand and kissing it every moment, sat beside him: the rest, crowding round him, watched every movement, word, or look of his, never taking their blissfully adoring eyes off him. His brother and sisters struggled for the places nearest to him and disputed with one another who should bring him his tea, handkerchief, and pipe.

       Rostov was very happy in the love they showed him; but the first moment of meeting had been so beatific that his present joy seemed insufficient, and he kept expecting something more, more and yet more.

       Next morning, after the fatigues of their journey, the travelers slept till ten o'clock.

       In the room next their bedroom there was a confusion of sabers, satchels, sabretaches, open portmanteaus, and dirty boots. Two freshly cleaned pairs with spurs had just been placed by the wall. The servants were bringing in jugs and basins, hot water for shaving, and their well-brushed clothes. There was a masculine odor and a smell of tobacco.

       "Hallo, Gwiska--my pipe!" came Vasili Denisov's husky voice. "Wostov, get up!"

       Rostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his disheveled head from the hot pillow. "Why, is it late?"

       "Late! It's nearly ten o'clock," answered Natasha's voice. A rustle of starched petticoats and the whispering and laughter of girls' voices came from the adjoining room. The door was opened a crack and there was a glimpse of something blue, of ribbons, black hair, and merry faces. It was Natasha, Sonya, and Petya, who had come to see whether they were getting up.

       "Nicholas! Get up!" Natasha's voice was again heard at the door. "Directly!"

       Meanwhile, Petya, having found and seized the sabers in the outer room, with the delight boys feel at the sight of a military elder