‘My dear girl, you look so lovely!’ she said to the blushing Natasha. ‘So charming! No, Count, this is too much,’ she said to Count Ilya, who had followed her in. ‘How can you live in Moscow without going out? No, I’m not letting go of you! This evening Mademoiselle George is giving a recitation at our house and we have one or two people coming. If you don’t bring your lovely girls, who are much prettier than Mademoiselle George, I shall disown you! My husband’s away in Tver, or I should have sent him to invite you. You have to come. Yes, you must. Between eight and nine.’
She nodded to the dressmaker, who knew her and was curtseying politely, and seated herself in an armchair next to the mirror, decoratively rearranging the folds of her velvet dress. She kept up a constant flow of pleasant chit-chat interspersed with enthusiastic admiration of Natasha’s beauty. She inspected her dresses and spoke highly of them, speaking no less highly of a new dress of her own made from ‘metal gauze’, which she had just received from Paris and strongly recommended to Natasha.
‘But you’d look nice in anything, my lovely darling!’ she declared. A grin of pleasure had settled permanently on Natasha’s face. She felt so happy, blossoming under the praises of this nice lady, Countess Bezukhov, who had once seemed so remote and important and was now being so kind. Natasha’s spirits rose, and she felt almost in love with this kind and beautiful woman. As for Hélène, her admiration of Natasha was quite genuine, and she really did want to see her enjoying herself. Anatole had asked her to bring Natasha and him together, and this was why she had come to the Rostovs’. She found the thought of bringing her brother and Natasha together most amusing.
Although Hélène had once resented Natasha’s ability to take Boris away from her in Petersburg, she now dismissed that from her mind, and as far as she was able she wished Natasha nothing but good. On her way out she took her protégée to one side and said, ‘My brother came to dinner last night. We almost died with laughter – he won’t eat, all he does is sigh for you, my lovely darling! He’s crazy about you, my dear, simply crazy.’
Natasha blushed to the roots of her hair when she heard this.
‘Look how she’s blushing! Dear lovely girl!’ Hélène went on. ‘But do come. Even if you’re in love that’s no reason to lock yourself away. Even if you’re engaged, I’m sure your fiancé would want you to go out rather than die of boredom while he’s away.’
‘So she knows I’m engaged. So they’ve been talking and laughing about it, she and her husband, Pierre, and Pierre’s as straight as a die. So it can’t be all that important.’
And once again, under the spell of Hélène, something that had seemed dreadful now struck her as straightforward and normal behaviour. ‘And she’s such a fine lady, she’s so nice to me, and she seems to have taken to me in a big way,’ thought Natasha, gazing at Hélène, wide-eyed and wondering. ‘And why shouldn’t I have a bit of fun?’
Marya Dmitriyevna came back in time for dinner, looking all serious and saying nothing, which suggested defeat at the hands of the old prince. She was too upset by the argument that had occurred to be able to sit down and talk calmly about it. When the count ventured a question she replied that all was well and she would tell him about it tomorrow. On hearing of Countess Bezukhov’s visit and the evening invitation, Marya Dmitriyevna said, ‘I don’t care to associate with Countess Bezukhov, and I advise you not to do so, but now that you’ve promised, you’d better go. It will be a nice distraction,’ she added, addressing Natasha.
CHAPTER 13
Count Rostov took his two girls to Countess Bezukhov’s evening recitation. There were quite a few people there, but Natasha knew hardly anybody. The count noted with some displeasure that the company consisted almost entirely of men and women who were notorious for their free and easy life-style. Mademoiselle George4 was standing in one corner of the drawing-room surrounded by young men. There were several Frenchmen there including Métivier, who had been a regular visitor at Countess Bezukhov’s ever since her arrival in Moscow. The count made up his mind not to play cards, not to let his daughters out of his sight and to go home the minute Mademoiselle George finished her performance.
Anatole was standing by the door, rather obviously on the look-out for the Rostovs. He welcomed the count, went straight up to Natasha and followed her in. At the first sight of him Natasha had the same feeling that had come over her at the opera: she felt flattered that he was so taken with her but scared by the absence of any moral barrier between them.
Hélène gave Natasha a rapturous welcome, lavishing praise on her beauty and her appearance. Shortly after their arrival Mademoiselle George left the room to put on her costume.
