"That's how we used to dance in our time, ma chere," said the count.

"That was a Daniel Cooper!" exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna, tucking up
her sleeves and puffing heavily.





CHAPTER XXI


While in the Rostovs' ballroom the sixth anglaise was being
danced, to a tune in which the weary musicians blundered, and while
tired footmen and cooks were getting the supper, Count Bezukhov had
a sixth stroke. The doctors pronounced recovery impossible. After a
mute confession, communion was administered to the dying man,
preparations made for the sacrament of unction, and in his house there
was the bustle and thrill of suspense usual at such moments. Outside
the house, beyond the gates, a group of undertakers, who hid
whenever a carriage drove up, waited in expectation of an important
order for an expensive funeral. The Military Governor of Moscow, who
had been assiduous in sending aides-de-camp to inquire after the
count's health, came himself that evening to bid a last farewell to
the celebrated grandee of Catherine's court, Count Bezukhov.

The magnificent reception room was crowded. Everyone stood up
respectfully when the Military Governor, having stayed about half an
hour alone with the dying man, passed out, slightly acknowledging
their bows and trying to escape as quickly as from the glances fixed