Sonya was finishing dressing and so was the countess, but Natasha, who had bustled about helping them all, was behindhand.

She was still sitting before a looking-glass with a dressing jacket thrown over her slender shoulders.

Sonya stood ready dressed in the middle of the room and, pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her dainty finger, was fixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went through it.