‘Come, come, I was joking, I was joking,’ he said. ‘Remember one thing, princess; I stick to my principles, that a girl has a full right to choose. And I give you complete freedom. Remember one thing; the happiness of your life depends on your decision. No need to talk about me.’
‘But I don’t know . . . father.’
‘No need for talking! He’s told to, and he’s ready to marry any one, but you are free to choose. ... Go to your own room, think it over, and come to me in an hour’s time and tell me in his presence: yes or no. I
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WAR AND PEACE know you will pray over it. Well, pray if you like. Only you’d do better to think. You can go.’
‘Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!’ he shouted again as the princess went out of the room, reeling in a sort of fog. Her fate was decided, and decided for happiness. But what her father had said about Mademoiselle Bourienne, that hint was horrible. It was not true, of course, but still it was horrible; she could not help thinking of it. She walked straight forward through the winter garden, seeing and hearing nothing, when all of a sudden she was roused by the familiar voice of Mademoiselle Bourienne. She lifted her eyes, and only two paces before her she saw Anatole with his arms round the Frenchwoman, whispering something to her. With a terrible expression on his handsome face, Anatole looked round at Princess Marya, and did not for the first second let go the waist of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who had not seen her.
‘Who’s there? What do you want? Wait a little!’ was what Anatole’s face expressed. Princess Marya gazed blankly at them. She could not believe her eyes. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne shrieked and ran away. With a gay smile Anatole bowed to Princess Marya, as though inviting her to share his amusement at this strange incident, and with a shrug of his shoulders he went to the door that led to his apartment.
An hour later Tihon came to summon Princess Marya to the old prince, and added that Prince Vassily was with him. When Tihon came to her, iYincess Marya was sitting on the sofa in her own room holding in her arms the weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Marya was softly stroking her head. Her beautiful eyes had regained all their luminous peace, and were gazing with tender love and commiseration at the pretty little face of Mademoiselle Bourienne.
‘Oh, princess, I am ruined for ever in your heart,’ Mademoiselle Bourienne was saying.
‘Why? I love you more than ever,’ said Princess Marya, ‘and I will try to do everything in my power for your happiness.’
‘But you despise me, you who are so pure, you will never understand this frenzy of passion. Ah, it is only my poor mother . . .’
‘I understand everything,’ said Princess Marya, smiling mournfully. ‘Calm yourself, my dear. I am going to my father,’ she said, and she went out.
When the princess went in, Prince Vassily was sitting with one leg crossed high over the other, and a snuff-box in his hand. There was a smile of emotion on his face, and he looked as though moved to such an extreme point that he could but regret and smile at his own sensibility. He took a hasty pinch of snuff.
‘Ah, my dear, my dear!’ he said, getting up and taking her by both hands. He heaved a sigh, and went on: ‘My son’s fate is in your hands. Decide, my good dear, sweet Marie, whom I have always loved like a daughter.’ He drew back. There was a real tear in his eye.
‘Fr . . . ffr . . .’ snorted the old prince. ‘The prince in his protege’s . . . his son’s name makes you a proposal. Are you willing or not to
be the wife of Prince Anatole Kuragin? You say: yes or no,’ he shouted, 'and then I reserve for myself the right to express my opinion. Yes, my opinion, and nothing but my opinion,’ added the old prince, to Prince Vassily in response to his supplicating expression, ‘Yes or no!’
‘My wish, mon pcre, is never to leave you; never to divide my life from yours. I do not wish to marry,’ she said resolutely, glancing with her beautiful eyes at Prince Vassily and at her father.
‘Nonsense, fiddlesticks! Nonsense, nonsense!’ shouted the old prince, frowning. He took his daughter’s hand, drew her towards him and did not kiss her, but bending over, touched her forehead with his, and wrung the hand he held so violently that she winced and uttered a cry. Prince Vassily got up.
‘My dear, let me tell you that this is a moment I shall never forget, never; but, dear, will you not give us a little hope of touching so kind and generous a heart. Say that perhaps. . . . The future is so wide. . . . Say: perhaps.’
‘Prince, what I have said is ail that is in my heart. I thank you for the honor you do me, but I shall never be your son's wife.’
‘Well, then it’s all over, my dear fellow. Very glad to have seen you, very glad to have seen you. Go to your room, princess; go along now,’ said the old prince. ‘Very, very glad to have seen you,’ he repeated, embracing Prince Vassily.
