There were only three glasses; the water was so dirty that there was no telling whether the tea were strong or weak, and the samovar would only hold water enough for six glasses. But that made it all the more fun to take turns in order of seniority to receive a glass from the plump, short-nailed, and not over clean fingers of Marya Hendrihovna. All the officers seemed indeed to be genuinely in love for that evening with Marya Hendrihovna. Even the officers who had been playing cards behind the screen soon threw up their game, and gathered round the samovar, catching the general mood, and joining in the homage paid to Marya Hendrihovna. The latter, seeing herself surrounded by these splendid and devoted young men, beamed with delight, which she sought in vain to conceal, though she was unmistakably alarmed at every movement made by her husband, who was slumbering behind her. There was only one spoon; sugar there was in plenty, but it took so long for all to stir their glasses, that it was settled that Marya Hendrihovna must stir the sugar for each in turn. Rostov took his glass of tea, and adding rum to it, begged Marya Hendrihovna to stir it for him.
“But you take it without sugar？” she said, smiling all the while, as though whatever she said or the others said had a quite different and very amusing meaning.
“I don’t care about sugar, all I want is for you to stir it with your little hand.”
Marya Hendrihovna began looking for the spoon, which some one had pounced upon.
“Use your little finger, Marya Hendrihovna,” said Rostov; “it will be all the sweeter.”
“It’s hot,” said Marya Hendrihovna, blushing with pleasure.
Ilyin took the bucket of water, and pouring a few drops of rum in it, went up to Marya Hendrihovna, begging her to stir it with her finger.
“This is my cup,” he said. “Only dip your finger in and I’ll drink it all up.”
When the samovar was empty, Rostov took up the cards and proposed a game of “Kings” with Marya Hendrihovna. They tossed to decide which was to have the lady for a partner. Rostov proposed as a rule of the game that the one who was “king” should have the right to kiss Marya Hendrihovna’s hand, and the one who was left knave should have to fetch another samovar for the doctor, when he waked.
“Well, but what if Marya Hendrihovna is king？” asked Ilyin.
“She is our queen already！ And her commands are law.”
The game was just beginning when the doctor’s dishevelled head popped up behind his wife. He had been awake for some time and listening to the conversation, and apparently he saw nothing agreeable, funny, or amusing in what was being said and done. His face looked depressed and weary. He did not greet the officers, but scratching himself, he asked them to move to let him pass. As soon as he had left the room, all the officers broke into loud peals of laughter, and Marya Hendrihovna blushed till the tears came, ****** her even more charming in the eyes of the officers. Coming in again from the yard, the doctor told his wife （who had lost her radiant smile, and looked at him in dismay in expectation of the sentence in store for her） that the rain was over and they must spend the night in their covered cart, or they would have all their things stolen.
“But I’ll put an orderly on guard … two, indeed！” said Rostov. “That’s nonsense, doctor.”
“I’ll be sentinel myself！” said Ilyin.
“No, gentlemen, you have had plenty of sleep, but I have been up these two nights,” said the doctor, and he sat gloomily by his wife’s side, waiting for the end of the game.
Looking at the doctor’s gloomy face and sidelong glances at his wife, the officers grew even more lively, and many of them could not suppress their laughter, for which they hastily sought presentable pretexts. When the doctor had led his wife away, and settled himself with her in their cart, the officers lay down in the inn, covering themselves with their wet overcoats. But for a long while they stayed awake, chatting, recalling the dismay of the doctor, and the delight of the doctor’s wife, or running out on to the steps to report on what was going on in the cart. Several times Rostov muffled his head up and tried to go to sleep. But again some remark roused him, again a conversation sprang up, and again there were peals of causeless, merry, childish laughter.