The quilt of a high, white feather bed was just visible behind a screen.
It is connected with what has long been known as the Bed Quilt Cave.
When she saw an indistinct shape in the corner, and mistook his knees raised under the quilt for his shoulders, she imagined a horrible body there, and stood still in terror.
Under the gleaming icons stood a long invalid chair, and in that chair on snowy- white smooth pillows, evidently freshly changed, Pierre saw--covered to the waist by a bright green quilt--the familiar, majestic figure of his father, Count Bezukhov, with that gray mane of hair above his broad forehead which reminded one of a lion, and the deep characteristically noble wrinkles of his handsome, ruddy face.
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.
He now approached the sick man with the noiseless step of one in full vigor of life, with his delicate white fingers raised from the green quilt the hand that was free, and turning sideways felt the pulse and reflected a moment.
He was lying on his back propped up high, and his small bony hands with their knotted purple veins were lying on the quilt; his left eye gazed straight before him, his right eye was awry, and his brows and lips motionless.
Natasha did not move, though her little bare foot, thrust out from under the quilt, was growing cold on the bare floor.
Multicolored fields of grain and soy beans lay like a patchwork quilt for miles.
She not only remembered what she had then said--that he turned to look at her and smiled and was covered with something red--but was firmly convinced that she had then seen and said that he was covered with a pink quilt and that his eyes were closed.