The old lady turned faint. Gavril Afanassievitch drew back the curtain, looked coldly at the sick girl, and asked how she was. The invalid wanted to smile at him, but could not. Her father’s stern look struck her, and unease took possession of her. At that moment it seemed to her that someone was standing at the head of her bed. She raised her head with an effort and suddenly recognized the czar’s negro. Then she remembered everything, and the horror of the future presented itself before her. But exhausted nature received no perceptible shock. Natasha dropped her head down again upon the pillow and closed her eyes,... her heart beat painfully within her. Tatiana Afanassievna made a sign to her brother that the invalid wanted to go to sleep, and all quitted the room very quietly, except the maid, who resumed her seat at the spinning-wheel.
The unhappy beauty opened her eyes, and no longer seeing anybody by her bedside, called the maid and sent her for the nurse. But at that moment a round, old creature like a ball, rolled up to her bed. Lastotchka (for so nurse was called) with all the speed of her short legs, had followed Gavril Afanassievitch and Ibrahim up the stairs, and concealed herself behind the door, in accordance to the promptings of that curiosity which is inborn in the fair sex. Natasha, seeing her, sent the maid away, and the nurse sat down upon a stool by the bedside.
Never had so small a body contained within itself so much energy of soul. She intermeddled in everything, knew everything, and busied herself about everything. By cunning and insinuating ways she had succeeded in gaining the love of her masters, and the hatred of all the household, which she controlled in the most arbitrary manner. Gavril Afanassievitch listened to her reports, complaints, and petty requests. Tatiana Afanassievna constantly asked her opinion, followed her advice, and Natasha had the most unbounded affection for her, and confided to her all the thoughts, all the emotions of her sixteen-year old heart.
“Do you know, Lastotchka,” said she, “my father is going to marry me to the negro.”
The nurse sighed deeply, and her wrinkled face became still more wrinkled.
“Is there no hope?” continued Natasha: “Will my father not take pity upon me?”
The nurse shook her cap.
“Will not my grandfather or my aunt intercede for me?”
“No, miss; during your illness the negro succeeded in bewitching everybody. The master is out of his mind about him, the Prince raves about him alone, and Tatiana Afanassievna says it a pity that he is a negro, as a better bridegroom we could not wish for.”
“My God, my God!” moaned poor Natasha.