Madame Schoss, who has been out to visit her daughter, increases the countess's fears still more by telling what she has seen at a spirit dealer's in Myasnitski Street. When returning by that street she has been unable to pass because of a drunken crowd rioting in front of the shop. She has taken a cab and driven home by a side street, and the cabman has told her that the people are breaking open the barrels at the drink store, having received orders to do so. After dinner the whole Rostov household sets to work with enthusiastic haste packing their belongings and preparing for their departure. The old count, suddenly setting to work, keeps passing from the yard to the house and back again, shouting confused instructions to the hurrying people, and flurrying them still more. Petya directs things in the yard. Sonya, owing to the count's contradictory orders, loses her head and does not know what to do. The servants run noisily about the house and yard, shouting and disputing. Natasha, with the ardour characteristic of all she does, suddenly sets to work too. At first her intervention in the business of packing is received sceptically. Everybody expects some prank from her and does not wish to obey her, but she resolutely and passionately demands obedience, grows angry and nearly cries because they do not heed her, and at last succeeds in making them believe her.
Her first exploit, which costs her immense effort and establishes her authority, is the packing of the carpets. The count has valuable Gobelin tapestries and Persian carpets in the house. When Natasha sets to work two cases are standing open in the ballroom, one almost full of crockery, the other with carpets. There is also much china on the tables, and still more being brought from the storeroom. A third case is needed and servants have gone to fetch it. Sonya, wait a bit, we will pack everything into these, Natasha says. You cannot, Miss, we have tried to, says the butler's assistant. Natasha begins rapidly taking out dishes and plates wrapped in paper. The dishes must go in here among the carpets. She sorts deftly: these plates of Kiev ware are not needed, these Saxony china dishes must go among the carpets. Sonya urges her reproachfully to leave it alone. The major-domo remarks what a young lady she is. Natasha will not give in. She turns everything out and begins quickly repacking, deciding that the inferior Russian carpets and unnecessary crockery should not be taken at all. When the cheaper things not worth taking have nearly all been rejected, the valuable ones really do all go into the two cases. Only the lid of the case containing the carpets will not shut down. A few more things might have been taken out, but Natasha insists on having her own way. She packs, repacks, presses, makes the butler's assistant and Petya, whom she has drawn into the business, press on the lid, and makes desperate efforts herself. That is enough, Natasha, Sonya says. I see you were right, but just take out the top one. I will not, Natasha cries, holding back the hair that hangs over her perspiring face. Now press, Petya. Press, Vasilich, press hard. The carpets yield and the lid closes. Natasha, clapping her hands, screams with delight and tears fall from her eyes. But this only lasts a moment. She at once sets to work afresh and they now trust her completely. The count is not angry even when they tell him that Natasha has countermanded an order of his, and the servants now come to her to ask whether a cart is sufficiently loaded, and whether it may be corded up. Thanks to her directions the work goes on expeditiously, unnecessary things are left, and the most valuable packed as compactly as possible.
But hard as they all work till quite late that night, they cannot get everything packed. The countess has fallen asleep and the count, having put off their departure till next morning, goes to bed. Sonya and Natasha sleep in the sitting room without undressing. That night another wounded man is driven down the Povarskaya, and Mavra Kuzminichna, who is standing at the gate, has him brought into the Rostovs' yard. She concludes that he is a very important man. He is being conveyed in a caleche with a raised hood, and is quite covered by an apron. On the box beside the driver sits a venerable old attendant. A doctor and two soldiers follow the carriage in a cart. Please come in here. The masters are going away and the whole house will be empty, the old woman says to the old attendant. Well, perhaps, he says with a sigh. We do not expect to get him home alive. We have a house of our own in Moscow, but it is a long way from here, and there is nobody living in it. Do us the honour to come in, there is plenty of everything in the master's house. Is he very ill? The attendant makes a hopeless gesture. We do not expect to get him home. We must ask the doctor. All right, says the doctor. The old servant returns to the caleche, looks into it, shakes his head disconsolately, tells the driver to turn into the yard, and stops beside Mavra Kuzminichna. O, Lord Jesus Christ, she murmurs. She invites them to take the wounded man into the house. The masters will not object. But they have to avoid carrying the man upstairs, and so they take him into the wing and put him in the room that has been Madame Schoss'. This wounded man is Prince Andrew Bolkonski.
