‘We shall appear without delay amidst our people in the capital, and in other parts of our dominion, for consultation and the supervision of all levies and recruitment, both those which are already barring the way to our enemy, and those newly formed to bring about his defeat wherever he appears. And may the ruin with which he threatens us rebound upon his own head, and may Europe, delivered from bondage, glorify the name of Russia!’
‘Quite right!’ cried the count, opening his moist eyes, choking and snuffling once or twice, as if a strong vinaigrette had been held to his nose. He went on, ‘One word from the Tsar and we shall make every sacrifice, and spare nothing.’
Shinshin was prevented from saying something funny about the count’s patriotism by Natasha, who leapt up from her seat and ran over to her father.
‘Papa, you’re such a darling!’ she cried, kissing him, but she glanced round at Pierre again with the touch of flirtation that had returned with her new excitement.
‘What a girl! Some patriot!’ said Shinshin.
‘No, I’m not, I’m just . . .’ Natasha began, stung to the quick. ‘You think everything’s funny, but this is no joke . . .’
‘Of course it’s no joke,’ repeated the count. ‘Just let him say the word, and we’ll be off . . . We’re not a bunch of Germans!’
‘Did you notice what he said?’ said Pierre, ‘ “For consultation”.’
‘Yes, yes, for anything that turns up . . .’
Meanwhile Petya, who was being ignored, went over to his father, red in the face, and in a voice that wobbled between gruff bass and shrill treble he said, ‘Now, listen, Papa, I’m telling you straight, and Mamma too, say what you will, I’m telling you straight, you
The countess turned her eyes to heaven in dismay, clasped her hands and turned on her husband in anger.
‘Now look what you’ve done with all your clever talking!’
But the count was quick to reassert himself amidst all the excitement.
‘Now listen,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit early for you to be a soldier! Stop this silly nonsense. You’ve got some studying to do.’
‘It isn’t nonsense, Papa. Fedya Obolensky’s younger than me, and he’s going. Anyway, I can’t study now, when . . .’ Petya came to a halt, beetroot-red and perspiring, though he managed to get out, ‘. . . when our country’s in danger.’
‘That’ll do, that’ll do. You’re being silly . . .’
‘But you said yourself we would make any sacrifice.’
‘Petya! Shut up, I tell you!’ cried the count, looking round at his wife, who was watching her younger son, white-faced and staring.
‘No, I’m telling you . . . Listen to Count Bezukhov. He’ll tell you . . .’
‘Nonsense, I tell you! The milk’s hardly dry on his lips and he wants to go into the army! That’s enough, I tell you,’ and the count collected the papers, probably to read them through again in the study before his nap, ready to walk out.
‘Pyotr Kirilych, shall we have a smoke?’
Pierre was too embarrassed to know what to do. It was Natasha, with an unusually radiant and eager look in her eyes, as she stared at him with something more than affection, that had reduced him to this state.
‘Er, no. I ought to be going home . . .’
‘Going home? But you were going to spend the evening with us . . . You don’t come very often as it is. And this little girl of mine,’ said the count with great good humour and a sideways glance at Natasha, ‘needs you to keep her happy . . .’
‘Er, no. I’ve forgotten something. I really must be going home . . . Business . . .’ Pierre blurted out.
‘All right, I’ll say goodbye then,’ said the count, and he left the room.
‘Why are you going home? Why are you so upset? What’s it all about?’ Natasha asked Pierre, with a new challenge in her eyes.
‘Because I love you!’ he wanted to say, but didn’t. He blushed till the tears came, and looked down.
‘Because I think I ought to come and see you a bit less often . . . Because . . . no, it’s just er . . . a bit of business . . .’
‘But
The two of them looked at each other in dismay and embarrassment. He tried to force a laugh, but it wouldn’t come. There was agony in his smile as he kissed her hand and left without a word.
Pierre made up his mind to stop visiting the Rostovs.
CHAPTER 21
After receiving such a categorical refusal Petya went off to his room, locked himself in and wept bitter tears for some time. When he came down to tea, gloomy, unspeaking and tear-stained, the family pretended not to notice.
