War And Peace полностью

‘Well, that’s all right, then,’ he said, ‘we can talk about this later on. Oh, I’m so glad to be back with you!’ he added. ‘Now, you tell me, you’ve not been unfaithful to Boris, have you?’

‘Don’t be silly!’ cried Natasha, laughing. ‘I never think about him or anybody else. I’m not interested.’

‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’

‘What do I mean?’ Natasha queried, and her face lit up with a happy smile. ‘Have you seen Duport?’²

‘No.’

‘You haven’t? Duport, the famous ballet-dancer? Oh, you won’t understand then. This is me now . . .’ Forming her arms into a circle, Natasha held out her skirt like a ballerina, tripped a few steps away, twirled round in a pirouette and then did a little entrechat, tapping her toes together in mid-air, coming down on the very tips of them and tripping forward a few steps.

‘Look, I’m on points. Can’t you see?’ she said, but she couldn’t stay up on her toes. ‘That’s me from now on! I’m never going to get married. I’m going to be a ballet-dancer. But don’t tell anybody.’

Rostov roared with laughter so merrily that Denisov in his room felt a pang of jealousy, and Natasha couldn’t help laughing too.

‘No, but that’s good, isn’t it?’ she kept asking.

‘Of course it is. So you’re not going to marry Boris?’

Natasha flared up.

‘I’m not going to marry anybody! I’ll tell him myself when I see him.’

‘All right then,’ said Rostov.

‘But this is all stupid,’ Natasha burbled on. ‘Tell me about Denisov. Is he nice?’ she asked.

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Well, off you go then. Go and get dressed . . . I’m scared of Denisov.’

‘What do you mean scared?’ asked Nikolay. ‘No, Vaska’s a good man.’

‘Is that what you call him – Vaska? . . . Doesn’t it sound funny! Is he very nice, then?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Get ready quickly and come and have some tea. We’ll all be there together.’

And Natasha rose on to her points and tiptoed out of the room like a ballerina, but she was smiling the smile of a happy fifteen-year-old girl. In the drawing-room Rostov blushed when he came across Sonya, not knowing how to approach her. Yesterday they had kissed in that first joyful moment of meeting, but today he felt he couldn’t do that. He could sense quizzical eyes upon him, his mother’s and his sisters’ – they were all wondering how he would behave with her. He kissed her hand and called her vous and Sonya. But their eyes when they met were on tu terms and they shared a tender kiss. Her eyes apologized for having dared to use Natasha as an emissary and remind him of his promise, and they thanked him for his love. His eyes thanked her for offering him his freedom, and told her that whatever happened he would never stop loving her, because it was impossible not to love her.

‘It’s odd, though – isn’t it?’ said Vera, choosing her moment when everyone was silent, ‘odd that Sonya and Nikolay have gone all formal, like strangers.’

Vera’s remark was true, like all her remarks, but like most of them it made everybody feel rather embarrassed – they all reddened, not just Sonya, Nikolay and Natasha, but even the countess, who was wary of her son’s love for Sonya because it might threaten his prospects of a brilliant marriage, even she blushed like a little girl. Much to Rostov’s surprise, when Denisov came into the drawing-room dressed in his new uniform, with his hair slicked down and nicely perfumed, he cut the same dashing figure as he had done on the battlefield, and behaved with the kind of sophistication and courtesy towards the ladies that Rostov had never expected to see in him.

CHAPTER 2

On his return to Moscow from the army Nikolay Rostov was received by his family as a hero and idol, the best of sons; by his relatives as a pleasant, charming and courteous young man; and by his acquintances as a handsome lieutenant of hussars, a good dancer and one of the most eligible bachelors in town.