Natasha made no reply. The notion that the secret of her heart was known to her father had a powerful effect upon her mind. One hope only was left to her—that she might die before the completion of this hateful marriage. This idea comforted her. With a weak and sad heart she resigned herself to her fate.
[CHAPTER VII.]
In Gavril Afanassievitch's house opening from the hall on the right was a a narrow room with one window. In it stood a simple bed covered with a blanket. Before the bed stood a small table of pine wood, on which a tallow candle burnt, and a book of music lay open. On the wall hung an old blue uniform and its contemporary, a three-cornered hat; above it nailed to the wall with three nails hung a picture representing Charles XII. on horseback. The notes of a flute sounded through this humble abode. The captive dancing-master, its solitary occupant, in a skull cap and cotton dressing-gown, was enlivening the dulness of a winter's evening practising some strange Swedish, marches. After devoting two whole hours to this exercise the Swede took his flute to pieces, packed it in a box, and began to undress.
[THE GYPSIES,]
NARRATIVE AND DRAMATIC POEM.
A noisy band of gypsies are wandering through. Bessarabia. To-day they will pitch their ragged tents on the banks of the river. Sweet as freedom is their nights rest, peaceful their slumber.