战争与和平(上)-第173节

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Natasha；　eager　and　agitated；　looked　about　her　with　wide…open；　frightened　eyes；　and　seemed　to　be　enjoying　herself　more　than　usual。　She　scarcely　grasped　anything　that　happened　that　evening。　They　danced　the　écossaise　and　“Grandfather。”　Her　father　suggested　their　going；　and　she　begged　to　stay　longer。　Wherever　she　was；　and　with　whomsoever　she　was　speaking；　she　felt　his　eyes　upon　her。　Then　she　remembered　that　she　had　asked　her　father’s　permission　to　go　into　a　dressing…room　to　rearrange　her　dress；　that　Ellen　had　followed　her；　had　talked　to　her；　laughing；　of　her　brother’s　passion；　and　that　in　the　little　divan…room　she　had　been　met　again　by　Anatole；　that　Ellen　had　somehow　vanished；　they　were　left　alone；　and　Anatole　taking　her　by　the　hand；　had　said　in　a　tender　voice：
“I　can’t　come　to　see　you；　but　is　it　possible　that　I　shall　never　see　you？　I　love　you　madly。　Can　I　never　…？”　and　barring　her　way　he　brought　his　face　close　to　hers。
His　large；　shining；　masculine　eyes　were　so　close　to　her　eyes；　that　she　could　see　nothing　but　those　eyes。
“Natalie？”　his　voice　whispered　interrogatively；　and　her　hands　were　squeezed　till　it　hurt。　“Natalie？”
“I　don’t　understand；　I　have　nothing　to　say；”　was　the　answer　in　her　eyes。
Burning　lips　were　pressed　to　her　lips；　and　at　the　same　instant　she　felt　herself　set　free　again；　and　caught　the　sound　of　Ellen’s　steps　and　rustling　gown　in　the　room　again。　Natasha　looked　round　towards　Ellen；　then；　red　and　trembling；　she　glanced　at　him　with　alarmed　inquiry；　and　moved　towards　the　door。
“One　word；　just　one　word；　for　God’s　sake；”　Anatole　was　saying。　She　stopped。　She　so　wanted　him　to　say　that　word；　that　would　have　explained　to　her　what　had　happened　and　to　which　she　could　have　found　an　answer。
“Natalie；　one　word　…　one　…”　he　kept　repeating；　plainly　not　knowing　what　to　say；　and　he　repeated　it　till　Ellen　reached　them。
Ellen　went　back　with　Natasha　to　the　drawing…room。　The　Rostovs　went　away　without　staying　to　supper。
When　she　got　home；　Natasha　did　not　sleep　all　night。　She　was　tortured　by　the　insoluble　question；　Which　did　she　love；　Anatole　or　Prince　Andrey？　Prince　Andrey；　she　did　love—she　remembered　clearly　how　great　her　love　was　for　him。　But　she　loved　Anatole　too；　of　that　there　was　no　doubt。　“Else　could　all　that　have　happened？”　she　thought。　“If　after　that　I　could　answer　with　a　smile　to　his　smile　at　parting；　if　I　could　sink　to　that；　it　means　that　I　fell　in　love　with　him　from　the　first　minute。　So　he　must　be　kind；　noble；　and　good；　and　I　could　not　help　loving　him。　What　am　I　to　do；　if　I　love　him　and　the　other　too？”　she　said　to　herself；　and　was　unable　to　find　an　answer　to　those　terrible　questions。


Chapter　14
THE　MORNING　came　with　daily　cares　and　bustle。　Every　one　got　up　and　began　to　move　about　and　to　talk；　dressmakers　came　again；　again　Marya　Dmitryevna　went　out　and　they　were　summoned　to　tea。　Natasha　kept　uneasily　looking　round　at　every　one　with　wide…open　eyes；　as　though　she　wanted　to　intercept　every　glance　turned　upon　her。　She　did　her　utmost　to　seem　exactly　as　usual。
After　luncheon—it　was　always　her　best　time—Marya　Dmitryevna　seated　herself　in　her　own　arm…chair　and　drew　Natasha　and　the　old　count　to　her。
“Well；　my　friends；　I　have　thought　the　whole　matter　over　now；　and　I’ll　tell　you　my　advice；”　she　began。　“Yesterday；　as　you　know；　I　was　at　Prince　Bolkonsky’s；　well；　I　had　a　talk　with　him…He　thought　fit　to　scream　at　me。　But　there’s　no　screaming　me　down！　I　had　it　all　out　with　him。”
“Well；　but　what　does　he　mean？”　asked　the　count。
“He’s　crazy…he　won’t　hear　of　it；　and　there’s　no　more　to　be　said。　As　it　is　we　have　given　this　poor　girl　worry　enough；”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna。　“And　my　advice　to　you　is；　to　make　an　end　of　it　and　go　home　to　Otradnoe…and　there　to　wait。”
“Oh　no！”　cried　Natasha。
“Yes；　to　go　home；”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna；　“and　to　wait　there。　If　your　betrothed　comes　here　now；　there’ll　be　no　escaping　a　quarrel；　but　alone　here　he’ll　have　it　all　out　with　the　old　man；　and　then　come　on　to　you。”
Count　Ilya　Andreitch　approved　of　this　suggestion；　and　at　once　saw　all　the　sound　sense　of　it。　If　the　old　man　were　to　come　round；　then　it　would　be　better　to　visit　him　at　Moscow　or　Bleak　Hills；　later　on；　if　not；　then　the　wedding；　against　his　will；　could　only　take　place　at　Otradnoe。
“And　that’s　perfectly　true；”　said　he。　“I　regret　indeed　that　I　ever　went　to　see　him　and　took　her　too；”　said　the　count。
“No；　why　regret　it？　Being　here；　you　could　do　no　less　than　show　him　respect。　If　he　wouldn’t　receive　it；　that’s　his　affair；”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna；　searching　for　something　in　her　reticule。　“And　now　the　trousseau’s　ready；　what　have　you　to　wait　for？　What　is　not　ready；　I’ll　send　after　you。　Though　I’m　sorry　to　lose　you；　still　the　best　thing　is　for　you　to　go；　and　God　be　with　you。”　Finding　what　she　was　looking　for　in　her　reticule；　she　handed　it　to　Natasha。　It　was　a　letter　from　Princess　Marya。　“She　writes　to　you。　How　worried　she　is；　poor　thing！　She　is　afraid　you　might　think　she　does　not　like　you。”
“Well；　she　doesn’t　like　me；”　said　Natasha。
“Nonsense；　don’t　say　so；”　cried　Marya　Dmitryevna。
“I　won’t　take　any　one’s　word　for　that；　I　know　she　doesn’t　like　me；”　said　Natasha　boldly　as　she　took　the　letter；　and　there　was　a　look　of　cold　and　angry　resolution　in　her　face；　that　made　Marya　Dmitryevna　look　at　her　more　closely　and　frown。
“Don’t　you　answer　me　like　that；　my　good　girl；”　she　said。　“If　I　say　so；　it’s　the　truth。　Write　an　answer　to　her。”
Natasha　made　no　reply；　and　went　to　her　own　room　to　read　Princess　Marya’s　letter。
Princess　Marya　wrote　that　she　was　in　despair　at　the　misunderstanding　that　had　arisen　between　them。　Whatever　her　father’s　feelings　might　be；　wrote　Princess　Marya；　she　begged　Natasha　to　believe　that　she　could　not　fail　to　love　her；　as　the　girl　chosen　by　her　brother；　for　whose　happiness　she　was　ready　to　make　any　sacrifice。
“Do　not　believe；　though；”　she　wrote；　“that　my　father　is　ill…disposed　to　you。　He　is　an　old　man　and　an　invalid；　for　whom　one　must　make　excuses。　But　he　is　good…hearted　and　generous；　and　will　come　to　love　the　woman　who　makes　his　son　happy。”　Princess　Marya　begged　Natasha；　too；　to　fix　a　time　when　she　might　see　her　again。
After　reading　the　letter；　Natasha　sat　down　to　the　writing…table　to　answer　it。　“Dear　princess；”　she　began；　writing　rapidly　and　mechanically　in　French；　and　there　she　stopped。　What　more　could　she　write　after　what　had　happened　the　day　before？　“Yes；　yes；　all　that　had　happened；　and　now　everything　was　different；”　she　thought；　sitting　before　the　letter　she　had　begun。　“Must　I　refuse　him？　Must　I　really？　That’s　awful！…”　And　to　avoid　these　horrible　thoughts；　she　went　in　to　Sonya；　and　began　looking　through　embroidery　designs　with　her。
After　dinner　Natasha　went　to　her　own　room　and　took　up　Princess　Marya’s　letter　again。　“Can　everything　be　over？”　she　thought。　“Can　all　this　have　happened　so　quickly　and　have　destroyed　all　that　went　before？”　She　recalled　in　all　its　past　strength　her　love　for　Prince　Andrey；　and　at　the　same　time　she　felt　that　she　loved　Kuragin。　She　vividly　pictured　herself　the　wife　of　Prince　Andrey；　of　her　happiness　with　him；　called　up　the　picture　she　had　so　often　dwelt　on　in　her　imagination；　and　at　the　same　time；　all　aglow　with　emotion；　she　recalled　every　detail　of　her　interview　the　previous　evening　with　Anatole。
“Why　could　not　that　be　as　well？”　she　wondered　sometimes　in　complete　bewilderment。　“It’s　only　so　that　I　could　be　perfectly　happy：　as　it　is；　I　have　to　choose；　and　without　either　of　them　I　can’t　be　happy。　There’s　one　thing；”　she　thought；　“to　tell　Prince　Andrey　what　has　happened；　to　hide　it　from　him—are　equally　impossible。　But　with　him　nothing　is　spoilt。　But　can　I　part　for　ever　from　the　happiness　of　Prince　Andrey’s　love；　which　I　have　been　living　on　for　so　long？”
“Madame；”　whispered　a　maid；　coming　into　the　room　with　a　mysterious　air；　“a　man　told　me　to　give　you　this。”　The　girl　gave　her　a　letter。　“Only　for　Christ’s　sake　…”　said　the　girl；　as　Natasha；　without　thinking；　mechanically　broke　the　seal　and　began　reading　a　love…letter　from　Anatole；　of　which　she　did　not　understand　a　word；　but　understood　only　that　it　was　a　letter　from　him；　from　the　man　whom　she　loved。　“Yes；　she　loved　him；　otherwise；　how　could　what　had　happened　have　happened？　How　could　a　love…letter　from　him　be　in　her　hand？”
With　trembling　hands　Natasha　held　that　passionate　love…letter；　composed　for　Anatole　by　Dolohov；　and　as　she　read　it；　she　found　in　it　echoes　of　all　that　it　seemed　to　her　she　was　feeling　herself。
“Since　yesterday　evening　my　fate　is　sealed：　to　be　loved　by　you　or　to　die。　There　is　nothing　else　left　for　me；”　the　letter　began。　Then　he　wrote　that　he　knew　her　relations　would　never　give　her　to　him；　to　Anatole；　that　there　were　secret　reasons　for　that　which　he　could　only　reveal　to　her　alone；　but　that　if　she　loved　him；　she　had　but　to　utter　the　word　Yes；　and　no　human　force　could　hinder　their　happiness。　Love　would　conquer　all。　He　could　capture　her　and　bear　her　away　to　the　ends　of　the　earth。
“Yes；　yes；　I　love　him！”　thought　Natasha；　reading　the　letter　over　for　the　twentieth　time；　and　finding　some　special　deep　meaning　in　every　word。
That　evening　Marya　Dmitryevna　was　going　to　the　Arharovs’；　and　proposed　taking　the　young　ladies　with　her。