战争与和平(上)-第160部分

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　the　purchaser；　and　there　was　nothing　now　to　detain　him　in　Moscow　away　from　his　countess；　for　whom　he　was　pining。　Marya　Dmitryevna　met　him；　and　told　him　that　Natasha　had　been　very　unwell　on　the　previous　day；　that　they　had　sent　for　a　doctor；　and　that　now　she　was　better。　Natasha　did　not　leave　her　room　that　morning。　With　tightly　shut；　parched　lips；　and　dry；　staring　eyes；　she　sat　at　the　window　uneasily　watching　the　passers…by　along　the　street；　and　hurriedly　looking　round　at　any　one　who　entered　her　room。　She　was　obviously　expecting　news　of　him；　expecting　that　he　would　come　himself　or　would　write　to　her。
When　the　count　went　in　to　her；　she　turned　uneasily　at　the　sound　of　his　manly　tread；　and　her　face　resumed　its　previous　cold　and　even　vindictive　expression。　She　did　not　even　get　up　to　meet　him。
“What　is　it；　my　angel；　are　you　ill？”　asked　the　count。
Natasha　was　silent　a　moment。
“Yes；　I　am　ill；”　she　answered。
In　answer　to　the　count’s　inquiries　why　she　was　depressed　and　whether　anything　had　happened　with　her　betrothed；　she　assured　him　that　nothing　had；　and　begged　him　not　to　be　uneasy。　Marya　Dmitryevna　confirmed　Natasha’s　assurances　that　nothing　had　happened。　From　the　pretence　of　illness；　from　his　daughter’s　agitated　state；　and　the　troubled　faces　of　Sonya　and　Marya　Dmitryevna；　the　count　saw　clearly　that　something　had　happened　in　his　absence。　But　it　was　so　terrible　to　him　to　believe　that　anything　disgraceful　had　happened　to　his　beloved　daughter；　and　he　so　prized　his　own　cheerful　serenity；　that　he　avoided　inquiries　and　tried　to　assure　himself　that　it　was　nothing　very　out　of　the　way；　and　only　grieved　that　her　indisposition　would　delay　their　return　to　the　country。


Chapter　19
FROM　THE　DAY　of　his　wife’s　arrival　in　Moscow；　Pierre　had　been　intending　to　go　away　somewhere　else；　simply　not　to　be　with　her。　Soon　after　the　Rostovs’　arrival　in　Moscow；　the　impression　made　upon　him　by　Natasha　had　impelled　him　to　hasten　in　carrying　out　his　intention。　He　went　to　Tver　to　see　the　widow　of　Osip　Alexyevitch；　who　had　long　before　promised　to　give　him　papers　of　the　deceased’s。
When　Pierre　came　back　to　Moscow；　he　was　handed　a　letter　from　Marya　Dmitryevna；　who　summoned　him　to　her　on　a　matter　of　great　importance；　concerning　Andrey　Bolkonsky　and　his　betrothed。　Pierre　had　been　avoiding　Natasha。　It　seemed　to　him　that　he　had　for　her　a　feeling　stronger　than　a　married　man　should　have　for　a　girl　betrothed　to　his　friend。　And　some　fate　was　continually　throwing　him　into　her　company。
“What　has　happened？　And　what　do　they　want　with　me？”　he　thought　as　he　dressed　to　go　to　Marya　Dmitryevna’s。　“If　only　Prince　Andrey　would　make　haste　home　and　marry　her；”　thought　Pierre　on　the　way　to　the　house。
In　the　Tverskoy　Boulevard　some　one　shouted　his　name。
“Pierre！　Been　back　long？”　a　familiar　voice　called　to　him。　Pierre　raised　his　head。　Anatole；　with　his　everlasting　companion　Makarin；　dashed　by　in　a　sledge　with　a　pair　of　grey　trotting…horses；　who　were　kicking　up　the　snow　on　to　the　forepart　of　the　sledge。　Anatole　was　sitting　in　the　classic　pose　of　military　dandies；　the　lower　part　of　his　face　muffled　in　his　beaver　collar；　and　his　head　bent　a　little　forward。　His　face　was　fresh　and　rosy；　his　hat；　with　its　white　plume；　was　stuck　on　one　side；　showing　his　curled；　pomaded　hair；　sprinkled　with　fine　snow。
“Indeed；　he　is　the　real　philosopher！”　thought　Pierre。　“He　sees　nothing　beyond　the　present　moment　of　pleasure；　nothing　worries　him；　and　so　he　is　always　cheerful；　satisfied；　and　serene。　What　would　I　not　give　to　be　just　like　him！”　Pierre　mused　with　envy。
In　Marya　Dmitryevna’s　entrance…hall　the　footman；　as　he　took　off　Pierre’s　fur　coat；　told　him　that　his　mistress　begged　him　to　come　to　her　in　her　bedroom。
As　he　opened　the　door　into　the　reception…room；　Pierre　caught　sight　of　Natasha；　sitting　at　the　window　with　a　thin；　pale；　and　ill…tempered　face。　She　looked　round　at　him；　frowned；　and　with　an　expression　of　frigid　dignity　walked　out　of　the　room。
“What　has　happened？”　asked　Pierre；　going　in　to　Marya　Dmitryevna。
“Fine　doings；”　answered　Marya　Dmitryevna。　“Fifty…eight　years　I　have　lived　in　the　world—never　have　I　seen　anything　so　disgraceful。”　And　exacting　from　Pierre　his　word　of　honour　not　to　say　a　word　about　all　he　was　to　hear；　Marya　Dmitryevna　informed　him　that　Natasha　had　broken　off　her　engagement　without　the　knowledge　of　her　parents；　that　the　cause　of　her　doing　so　was　Anatole　Kuragin；　with　whom　Pierre’s　wife　had　thrown　her；　and　with　whom　Natasha　had　attempted　to　elope　in　her　father’s　absence　in　order　to　be　secretly　married　to　him。
Pierre；　with　hunched　shoulders　and　open　mouth；　listened　to　what　Marya　Dmitryevna　was　saying；　hardly　able　to　believe　his　ears。　That　Prince　Andrey’s　fiancée；　so　passionately　loved　by　him；　Natasha　Rostov；　hitherto　so　charming；　should　give　up　Bolkonsky　for　that　fool　Anatole；　who　was　married　already　（Pierre　knew　the　secret　of　his　marriage）；　and　be　so　much　in　love　with　him　as　to　consent　to　elope　with　him—that　Pierre　could　not　conceive　and　could　not　comprehend。　He　could　not　reconcile　the　sweet　impression　he　had　in　his　soul　of　Natasha；　whom　he　had　known　from　childhood；　with　this　new　conception　of　her　baseness；　folly；　and　cruelty。　He　thought　of　his　wife。　“They　are　all　alike；”　he　said　to　himself；　reflecting　he　was　not　the　only　man　whose　unhappy　fate　it　was　to　be　bound　to　a　low　woman。　But　still　he　felt　ready　to　weep　with　sorrow　for　Prince　Andrey；　with　sorrow　for　his　pride。　And　the　more　he　felt　for　his　friend；　the　greater　was　the　contempt　and　even　aversion　with　which　he　thought　of　Natasha；　who　had　just　passed　him　with　such　an　expression　of　rigid　dignity。　He　could　not　know　that　Natasha’s　heart　was　filled　with　despair；　shame；　and　humiliation；　and　that　it　was　not　her　fault　that　her　face　accidentally　expressed　dignity　and　severity。
“What！　get　married？”　cried　Pierre　at　Marya　Dmitryevna’s　words。　“He　can’t　get　married；　he　is　married。”
“Worse　and　worse；”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna。　“He’s　a　nice　youth。　A　perfect　scoundrel。　And　she’s　expecting　him；　she’s　been　expecting　him　these　two　days。　We　must　tell　her；　at　least　she　will　leave　off　expecting　him。”
After　learning　from　Pierre　the　details　of　Anatole’s　marriage；　and　pouring　out　her　wrath　against　him　in　abusive　epithets；　Marya　Dmitryevna　informed　Pierre　of　her　object　in　sending　for　him。　Marya　Dmitryevna　was　afraid　that　the　count　or　Bolkonsky；　who　might　arrive　any　moment；　might　hear　of　the　affair；　though　she　intended　to　conceal　it　from　them；　and　might　challenge　Kuragin；　and　she　therefore　begged　Pierre　to　bid　his　brother…in…law　from　her　to　leave　Moscow　and　not　to　dare　to　show　himself　in　her　presence。　Pierre　promised　to　do　as　she　desired　him；　only　then　grasping　the　danger　menacing　the　old　count；　and　Nikolay；　and　Prince　Andrey。　After　briefly　and　precisely　explaining　to　him　her　wishes；　she　let　him　go　to　the　drawing…room。
“Mind；　the　count　knows　nothing　of　it。　You　behave　as　though　you　know　nothing；”　she　said　to　him。　“And　I’ll　go　and　tell　her　it’s　no　use　for　her　to　expect　him！　And　stay　to　dinner；　if　you　care　to；”　Marya　Dmitryevna　called　after　Pierre。
Pierre　met　the　old　count。　He　seemed　upset　and　anxious。　That　morning　Natasha　had　told　him　that　she　had　broken　off　her　engagement　to　Bolkonsky。
“I’m　in　trouble；　in　trouble；　my　dear　fellow；”　he　said　to　Pierre；　“with　those　girls　without　the　mother。　I　do　regret　now　that　I　came。　I　will　be　open　with　you。　Have　you　heard　she　has　broken　off　her　engagement　without　a　word　to　any　one？　I　never　did；　I’ll　admit；　feel　very　much　pleased　at　the　marriage。　He’s　an　excellent　man；　of　course；　but　still　there　could　be　no　happiness　against　a　father’s　will；　and　Natasha　will　never　want　for　suitors。　Still　it　had　been　going　on　so　long；　and　then　such　a　step；　without　her　father’s　or　her　mother’s　knowledge！　And　now　she’s　ill；　and　God　knows　what　it　is。　It’s　a　bad　thing；　count；　a　bad　thing　to　have　a　daughter　away　from　her　mother。…”　Pierre　saw　the　count　was　greatly　troubled；　and　tried　to　change　the　conversation　to　some　other　subject；　but　the　count　went　back　again　to　his　troubles。
Sonya　came　into　the　drawing…room　with　an　agitated　face。
“Natasha　is　not　very　well；　she　is　in　her　room　and　would　like　to　see　you。　Marya　Dmitryevna　is　with　her　and　she　asks　you　to　come　too。”
“Why；　yes；　you’re　such　a　great　friend　of　Bolkonsky’s；　no　doubt　she　wants　to　send　him　some　message；”　said　the　count。　“Ah；　my　God；　my　God！　How　happy　it　all　was！”　And　clutching　at　his　sparse　locks；　the　count　went　out　of　the　room。
Marya　Dmitryevna　had　told　Natasha　that　Anatole　was　married。　Natasha　would　not　believe　her；　and　insisted　on　the　statement　being　confirmed　by　Pierre　himself。　Sonya　told　Pierre　this　as　she　led　him　across　the　corridor　to　Natasha’s　room。
Natasha；　pale　and　stern；　was　sitting　beside　Marya　Dmitryevna；　and　she　met　Pierre　at　the　door　with　eyes　of　feverish　brilliance　and　inquiry。　She　did　not　smile　nor　nod　to　him。　She　simply　looked　hard　at　him；　and　that　look　asked　him　simply：　was　he　a　friend　or　an　enemy　like　the　rest；　as　regards　Anatole？　Pierre　in　himself　had　evidently　no　existence　for　her。
“He　knows　everything；”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna；　addressing　Natasha。　“Let　him　tell　you　whether　I　have　spoken　the　truth。”
As　a　hunted；　wounded　beast　looks　at　the　approaching　dogs　and　hunters；　Natasha　looked　from　one　to　the　other。
“Natalya　Ilyinitchna；”　Pierre　began；　dropping　his　eyes　and　conscious　of　a　feeling　of　pity　for　her　and　loathing　for　the　operation　he　had　to　perform；　“whether　it　is　true　or　not　cannot　affect　you　since　…”
“Then　it　is　not　true　that　he　is　married？”
“No；　it　is　true。”
“Has　he　been　married　long？”　she　asked。　“On　your　word　of　honour？”
Pierre　told　her　so　on　his　word　of　honour。
“Is　he　still　here？”　she　asked　rapidly。
“Yes；　I　have　just　seen　him。”
She　was　obviously　incapable　of　speaking；　she　made　a　sign　with　her　hands　for　them　to　leave　her　alone。


Chapter　20
PIERRE　did　not　stay　to　dinner　but　went　away　at　once　on　leaving　Natasha’s　room。　He　drove　about　the　town　looking　for　Anatole　Kuragin；　at　the　very　thought　of　whom　the　blood　rushed　to　his　heart；　and　he　felt　a　difficulty　in　breathing。　On　the　ice…hills；　at　the　gypsies’；　at　Somoneno　he　was　not　to　be　found。　Pierre　drove　to　the　club。　In　the　club　everything　was　going　on　just　as　usual：　the　members　who　had　come　in　to　dinner　w