战争与和平(上)-第60部分

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pauvre　mère）　had　appeared　to　her　and　reproached　her　for　yielding　to　a　man’s　allurements　without　marriage。　Mademoiselle　was　often　touched　to　tears；　as　in　imagination　she　told　“him；”　her　seducer；　this　tale。　Now　this　“he；”　a　real　Russian　prince；　had　appeared。　He　would　elope　with　her；　then　“my　poor　mother”　would　come　on　the　scene；　and　he　would　marry　her。　This　was　how　all　her　future　history　shaped　itself　in　Mademoiselle　Bourienne’s　brain　at　the　very　moment　when　she　was　talking　to　him　of　Paris。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　was　not　guided　by　calculations　（she　did　not　even　consider　for　one　instant　what　she　would　do）；　but　it　had　all　been　ready　within　her　long　before；　and　now　it　all　centred　about　Anatole　as　soon　as　he　appeared；　and　she　wished　and　tried　to　attract　him　as　much　as　possible。
The　little　princess；　like　an　old　warhorse　hearing　the　blast　of　the　trumpet；　was　prepared　to　gallop　off　into　a　flirtation　as　her　habit　was；　unconsciously　forgetting　her　position；　with　no　ulterior　motive；　no　struggle；　nothing　but　simple…hearted；　frivolous　gaiety　in　her　heart。
Although　in　feminine　society　Anatole　habitually　took　up　the　attitude　of　a　man　weary　of　the　attentions　of　women；　his　vanity　was　agreeably　flattered　by　the　spectacle　of　the　effect　he　produced　on　these　three　women。　Moreover；　he　was　beginning　to　feel　towards　the　pretty　and　provocative　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　that　violent；　animal　feeling；　which　was　apt　to　come　upon　him　with　extreme　rapidity；　and　to　impel　him　to　the　coarsest　and　most　reckless　actions。
After　tea　the　party　moved　into　the　divan…room；　and　Princess　Marya　was　asked　to　play　on　the　clavichord。　Anatole　leaned　on　his　elbow　facing　her；　and　near　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　and　his　eyes　were　fixed　on　Princess　Marya；　full　of　laughter　and　glee。　Princess　Marya　felt　his　eyes　upon　her　with　troubled　and　joyful　agitation。　Her　favourite　sonata　bore　her　away　to　a　world　of　soul…felt　poetry；　and　the　feeling　of　his　eyes　upon　her　added　still　more　poetry　to　that　world。　The　look　in　Anatole’s　eyes；　though　they　were　indeed　fixed　upon　her；　had　reference　not　to　her；　but　to　the　movements　of　Mademoiselle’s　little　foot；　which　he　was　at　that　very　time　touching　with　his　own　under　the　piano。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　too　was　gazing　at　Princess　Marya；　and　in　her　fine　eyes；　too；　there　was　an　expression　of　frightened　joy　and　hope　that　was　new　to　the　princess。
“How　she　loves　me！”　thought　Princess　Marya。　“How　happy　I　am　now　and　how　happy　I　may　be　with　such　a　friend　and　such　a　husband！　Can　he　possibly　be　my　husband？”　she　thought；　not　daring　to　glance　at　his　face；　but　still　feeling　his　eyes　fastened　upon　her。
When　the　party　broke　up　after　supper；　Anatole　kissed　Princess　Marya’s　hand。　She　was　herself　at　a　loss　to　know　how　she　had　the　hardihood；　but　she　looked　straight　with　her　short…sighted　eyes　at　the　handsome　face　as　it　came　close　to　her。　After　the　princess；　he　bent　over　the　hand　of　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　（it　was　a　breach　of　etiquette；　but　he　did　everything　with　the　same　ease　and　simplicity）　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　crimsoned　and　glanced　in　dismay　at　the　princess。
“Quelle　délicatesse！”　thought　Princess　Marya。　“Can　Amélie”　（Mademoiselle’s　name）　“suppose　I　could　be　jealous　of　her；　and　fail　to　appreciate　her　tenderness　and　devotion　to　me？”　She　went　up　to　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　and　kissed　her　warmly。　Anatole　went　to　the　little　princess。
“No；　no；　no！　When　your　father　writes　me　word　that　you　are　behaving　well；　I　will　give　you　my　hand　to　kiss。”　And　shaking　her　little　finger　at　him；　she　went　smiling　out　of　the　room。


Chapter　5
THEY　ALL　WENT　to　their　rooms；　and　except　Anatole；　who　fell　asleep　the　instant　he　got　into　bed；　no　one　could　get　to　sleep　for　a　long　while　that　night。　“Can　he　possibly　be—my　husband；　that　stranger；　that　handsome；　kind　man；　yes；　he　is　certainly　kind；”　thought　Princess　Marya；　and　a　feeling　of　terror；　such　as　she　scarcely　ever　felt；　came　upon　her。　She　was　afraid　to　look　round；　it　seemed　to　her　that　there　was　some　one　there—the　devil；　and　he　was　that　man　with　his　white　forehead；　black　eyebrows；　and　red　lips。
She　rang　for　her　maid　and　asked　her　to　sleep　in　her　room。
Mademoiselle　Bourienne　walked　up　and　down　the　winter　garden　for　a　long　while　that　evening；　in　vain　expectation　of　some　one；　at　one　moment　she　was　smiling　at　that　some　one；　the　next；　moved　to　tears　by　an　imaginary　reference　to　ma　pauvre　mère　reproaching　her　for　her　fall。
The　little　princess　kept　grumbling　to　her　maid　that　her　bed　had　not　been　properly　made。　She　could　not　lie　on　her　side　nor　on　her　face。　She　felt　uncomfortable　and　ill　at　ease　in　every　position。　Her　burden　oppressed　her；　oppressed　her　more　than　ever　that　night；　because　Anatole’s　presence　had　carried　her　vividly　back　to　another　time　when　it　was　not　so；　and　she　had　been　light　and　gay。　She　sat　in　a　low　chair　in　her　nightcap　and　dressing…jacket。　Katya；　sleepy　and　dishevelled；　for　the　third　time　beat　and　turned　the　heavy　feather　bed；　murmuring　something。
“I　told　you　it　was　all　in　lumps　and　hollows；”　the　little　princess　repeated；　“I　should　be　glad　enough　to　go　to　sleep；　so　it’s　not　my　fault。”
And　her　voice　quivered　like　a　child’s　when　it　is　going　to　cry。
The　old　prince　too　could　not　sleep。　Tihon；　half　asleep；　heard　him　pacing　angrily　up　and　down　and　blowing　his　nose。　The　old　prince　felt　as　though　he　had　been　insulted　through　his　daughter。　The　insult　was　the　more　bitter　because　it　concerned　not　himself；　but　another；　his　daughter；　whom　he　loved　more　than　himself。　He　said　to　himself　that　he　would　think　the　whole　matter　over　thoroughly　and　decide　what　was　right　and　what　must　be　done；　but　instead　of　doing　so；　he　only　worked　up　his　irritation　more　and　more。
“The　first　stray　comer　that　appears！　and　father　and　all　forgotten；　and　she　runs　upstairs；　and　does　up　her　hair；　and　rigs　herself　out；　and　doesn’t　know　what　she’s　doing！　She’s　glad　to　abandon　her　father！　And　she　knew　I　should　notice　it。　Fr…fr…fr…And　don’t　I　see　the　fool　has　no　eyes　but　for　Bourienne　（must　get　rid　of　her）。　And　how　can　she　have　so　little　pride；　as　not　to　see　it？　If　not　for　her　own　sake；　if　she　has　no　pride；　at　least　for　mine。　I　must　show　her　that　the　blockhead　doesn’t　give　her　a　thought；　and　only　looks　at　Bourienne。　She　has　no　pride；　but　I’ll　make　her　see　it…”
By　telling　his　daughter　that　she　was　making　a　mistake；　that　Anatole　was　getting　up　a　flirtation　with　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　the　old　prince　knew　that　he　would　wound　her　self…respect；　and　so　his　object　（not　to　be　parted　from　his　daughter）　would　be　gained；　and　so　at　this　reflection　he　grew　calmer。　He　called　Tihon　and　began　undressing。
“The　devil　brought　them　here！”　he　thought；　as　Tihon　slipped　his　nightshirt　over　his　dried…up　old　body　and　his　chest　covered　with　grey　hair。
“I　didn’t　invite　them。　They　come　and　upset　my　life。　And　there’s　not　much　of　it　left。　Damn　them！”　he　muttered；　while　his　head　was　hidden　in　the　nightshirt。　Tihon　was　used　to　the　prince’s　habit　of　expressing　his　thoughts　aloud；　and　so　it　was　with　an　unmoved　countenance　that　he　met　the　wrathful　and　inquiring　face　that　emerged　from　the　nightshirt。
“Gone　to　bed？”　inquired　the　prince。
Tihon；　like　all　good　valets；　indeed；　knew　by　instinct　the　direction　of　his　master’s　thoughts。　He　guessed　that　it　was　Prince　Vassily　and　his　son　who　were　meant。
“Their　honours　have　gone　to　bed　and　put　out　their　lights；　your　excellency。”
“They　had　no　reason；　no　reason…”　the　prince　articulated　rapidly；　and　slipping　his　feet　into　his　slippers　and　his　arms　into　his　dressing…gown；　he　went　to　the　couch　on　which　he　always　slept。
Although　nothing　had　been　said　between　Anatole　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　they　understood　each　other　perfectly　so　far　as　the　first　part　of　the　romance　was　concerned；　the　part　previous　to　the　pauvre　mère　episode。　They　felt　that　they　had　a　great　deal　to　say　to　each　other　in　private；　and　so　from　early　morning　they　sought　an　opportunity　of　meeting　alone。　While　the　princess　was　away；　spending　her　hour　as　usual　with　her　father；　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　was　meeting　Anatole　in　the　winter　garden。
That　day　it　was　with　even　more　than　her　usual　trepidation　that　Princess　Marya　went　to　the　door　of　the　study。　It　seemed　to　her　not　only　that　every　one　was　aware　that　her　fate　would　be　that　day　decided；　but　that　all　were　aware　of　what　she　was　feeling　about　it。　She　read　it　in　Tihon’s　face　and　in　the　face　of　Prince　Vassily’s　valet；　who　met　her　in　the　corridor　with　hot　water；　and　made　her　a　low　bow。
The　old　prince’s　manner　to　his　daughter　that　morning　was　extremely　affectionate；　though　strained。　That　strained　expression　Princess　Marya　knew　well。　It　was　the　expression　she　saw　in　his　face　at　the　moments　when　his　withered　hands　were　clenched　with　vexation　at　Princess　Marya’s　not　understanding　some　arithmetical　problem；　and　he　would　get　up　and　walk　away　from　her；　repeating　the　same　words　over　several　times　in　a　low　voice。
He　came　to　the　point　at　once　and　began　talking。　“A　proposal　has　been　made　to　me　on　your　behalf；”　he　said；　with　an　unnatural　smile。　“I　dare　say；　you　have　guessed；”　he　went　on　“that　Prince　Vassily　has　not　come　here　and　brought　his　protégé”　（for　some　unknown　reason　the　old　prince　elected　to　refer　to　Anatole　in　this　way）　“for　the　sake　of　my　charms。　Yesterday；　they　made　me　a　proposal　on　your　behalf。　And　as　you　know　my　principles；　I　refer　the　matter　to　you。”
“How　am　I　to　understand　you；　mon　père？”　said　the　princess；　turning　pale　and　red。
“How　understand　me！”　cried　her　father　angrily。　“Prince　Vassily　finds　you　to　his　taste　as　a　daughter…in…law；　and　makes　you　a　proposal　for　his　protégé。　That’s　how　to　understand　it。　How　understand　it！…　Why；　I　ask　you。”
“I　don’t　know　how　you；　mon　père…”　the　princess　articulated　in　a　whisper。
“I？　I？　what　have　I　to　do　with　it？　leave　me　out　of　the　question。　I　am　not　going　to　be　married。　What　do　you　say？　that’s　what　it’s　desirable　to　learn。”
The　princess　saw　that　her　father　looked　with　ill…will　on　the　project；　but　at　that　instant　the　thought　had　occurred　to　her　that　now　or　never　the　fate　of　her　life　would　be　decided。　She　dropped　her　eyes　so　as　to　avoid　the　gaze　under　which　she　felt　incapable　of　thought；　and　capable　of　nothing　but　her　habitual　obedience：　“My　only　desire　is　to　carry　out　your　wishes；”　she　said；　“if　I　had　to　express　my　own　desire…