Natasha rises, smiles at something, and goes quickly to the window. Her
window looks down upon the earth from a height. It is in three
sections, in the mezzanine. Natasha does not draw the curtains across
it at night, so as not to hide from her drowsing eyes the comforting
glimmer of the stars and the witching face of the moon.
What happiness it is to open the window, to fling it wide open with a
vigorous thrust of the hand! From the direction of the river the
gentlest of morning breezes comes blowing into Natasha’s face, still
somewhat rapt in sleep. Beyond the garden and the hedges she can see
the broad fields beloved from childhood. Spread over them are sloping
hillocks, rows of ploughed soil, green groves, and clusters of
shrubbery.
The river winds its way among the green, full of capricious turnings.
White tufts of mist, dispersing gradually, hang over it like fragments
of a torn veil. The stream, visible in places, is more often hidden by
some projection of its low bank, but in the far distance its path is
marked by dense masses of willow-herb, which stand out dark green
against the bright grass.
Natasha washed herself quickly; it was pleasant to feel the cold water
upon her shoulders and upon her neck. Then, childlike, she prayed
diligently before the ikon in the dark corner, her knees not upon the
rug but upon the bare floor, in the hope that it might please God.
She repeated her daily prayer:
“Perform a miracle, O Lord!”
And she bent her face to the floor.
She rose. Then quickly she put on her gay, light dress with broad
shoulder-straps, cut square on the breast, and a leather belt, drawn in
at the back with a large buckle. Quickly she plaited her dark braids,
and deftly wound them round her head. With a flourish she stuck into
them horn combs and hairpins, the first that came to her hand. She
threw over her shoulders a grey, knitted kerchief, pleasantly soft in
texture, and made haste to go out onto the terrace of the old house.
The narrow inner staircase creaked gently under Natasha’s light step.
It was pleasant to feel the contact of the cold hard floor of planks
under her warm feet.
When Natasha descended and passed down the corridor and through the
dining-room, she walked on tip-toe so as to awaken neither her mother
nor her grandmother. Upon her face was a sweet expression of cheerful
preoccupation, and between her brows a slight contraction. This
contraction had remained as it was formed in those other days.
The curtains in the dining-room were still drawn. The room seemed dark
and oppressive. She wanted to run through quickly, past the large
drawn-out table. She had no wish to stop at the sideboard to snatch
something to eat.
Quicker, quicker! Toward freedom, toward the open, toward the smiles of
the careless dawn which does not think of wearisome yesterdays.