"And how much I fear for her happiness!" replied the countess, who in
her mother's heart could feel the flame that must some day be fatal to
her child's peace.

Natacha was still singing when Pétia dashed noisily into the room to
announce, in triumphant tones, that a party of mummers had come.

"Idiot!" exclaimed Natacha, stopping short, and, dropping into a chair,
she began to sob so violently that it was some time before she could
recover herself. "It is nothing, mamma, really nothing at all," she
declared, trying to smile. "Only Pétia frightened me; nothing more." And
her tears flowed afresh.

All the servants had dressed up, some as bears, Turks, tavern-keepers,
or fine ladies; others as mongrel monsters. Bringing with them the chill
of the night outside, they did not at first venture any farther than the
hall; by degrees, however, they took courage; pushing each other forward
for self-protection, they all soon came into the music-room. Once there,
their shyness thawed; they became expansively merry, and singing,
dancing, and sports were soon the order of the day. The countess, after
looking at them and identifying them all, went back into the
sitting-room, leaving her husband, whose jovial face encouraged them to
enjoy themselves.

The young people had all vanished; but half an hour later an old
marquise with patches appeared on the scene--none other than Nicolas;
Pétia as a Turk; a clown--Dimmler; a hussar--Natacha; and a
Circassian--Sonia. Both the girls had blackened their eyebrows and
given themselves mustaches with burned cork.