Six weeks after Anna Pavlovna’s party and the sleepless night of worry when Pierre had decided that marriage to Hélène would be a disaster and he must avoid her and get away – six weeks later, Pierre had still not left Prince Vasily’s and he was horrified to think that with each passing day he was becoming more and more closely associated with Hélène in people’s minds, that he could never recover his former attitude towards her, that he couldn’t possibly tear himself away from her and that even though it would all work out horribly he would have to unite his life to hers. He might just have been able to extricate himself, but not a day passed without Prince Vasily (who almost never gave receptions) holding an evening party which Pierre had to attend if he was not to spoil people’s pleasure and let them all down. On the rare occasions when Prince Vasily was at home he would catch Pierre by the arm as they passed, casually offer him a clean-shaven, wrinkled cheek for a kiss and say, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ or, ‘Don’t miss dinner, or I shan’t see you,’ or, ‘I’m staying in for your sake,’ or something like that. But even though Prince Vasily, when he did stay in ‘for Pierre’s sake’, never spoke two words to him, Pierre hadn’t the heart to let him down. Every day he said the same thing to himself over and over again. ‘I really must try to understand her and work out who she is. Was I wrong then, or am I wrong now? No, she’s not stupid. No, she’s a lovely young woman,’ he told himself sometimes. ‘She never puts a foot wrong. She’s never said anything stupid. She doesn’t say much at all, but what she does say is always straightforward and clear, so she can’t be stupid. She’s always self-possessed . . . never loses control. She can’t be all that bad!’ When he was with her he would often start to develop an idea or think out loud, and she would always respond with a terse but relevant comment that showed she wasn’t interested, or else with a silent smile and peculiar look, the most palpable indication of her superiority. She was right to think that any spoken arguments were nonsensical when set against that smile.
She now smiled at him in a special way; it was a cheerful, reassuring smile which meant more than the society smile that was always there adorning her face. Pierre knew that everyone was just waiting for him to say the word, cross the line, and he knew he would cross it sooner or later, but he was inexplicably horrified whenever he thought of taking this dreadful step. During those six weeks, as he felt himself sucked down deeper and deeper into the ghastly abyss, Pierre had said to himself a thousand times, ‘What am I doing? I’ve got to be firm! Surely I can manage that!’
He struggled to make a decision, but was dismayed to realize that in this case he lacked the will power which he had once known in himself and really did possess. Pierre was one of those people who can show strength only when their intentions are absolutely pure. And ever since the evening when he had felt so powerfully aroused as the snuff-box was being passed at Anna Pavlovna’s, an unconscious sense of sinfulness in that impulse had paralysed his will power.
