send it a kiss. Pierre, carefully stretching his neck so as not to
touch the quilt, followed her suggestion and pressed his lips to the
large boned, fleshy hand. Neither the hand nor a single muscle of
the count's face stirred. Once more Pierre looked questioningly at
Anna Mikhaylovna to see what he was to do next. Anna Mikhaylovna
with her eyes indicated a chair that stood beside the bed. Pierre
obediently sat down, his eyes asking if he were doing right. Anna
Mikhaylovna nodded approvingly. Again Pierre fell into the naively
symmetrical pose of an Egyptian statue, evidently distressed that
his stout and clumsy body took up so much room and doing his utmost to
look as small as possible. He looked at the count, who still gazed
at the spot where Pierre's face had been before he sat down. Anna
Mikhaylovna indicated by her attitude her consciousness of the
pathetic importance of these last moments of meeting between the
father and son. This lasted about two minutes, which to Pierre
seemed an hour. Suddenly the broad muscles and lines of the count's
face began to twitch. The twitching increased, the handsome mouth
was drawn to one side (only now did Pierre realize how near death
his father was), and from that distorted mouth issued an indistinct,
hoarse sound. Anna Mikhaylovna looked attentively at the sick man's
eyes, trying to guess what he wanted; she pointed first to Pierre,
then to some drink, then named Prince Vasili in an inquiring
whisper, then pointed to the quilt. The eyes and face of the sick
man showed impatience. He made an effort to look at the servant who
stood constantly at the head of the bed.

"Wants to turn on the other side," whispered the servant, and got up
to turn the count's heavy body toward the wall.

Pierre rose to help him.