‘O my enchantress! ’ she said to the blushing Natasha. ‘Charming! No, this is really beyond anything, count,’ she said to Count Ilya Andreitch, who had followed her in. l How can you be in Moscow, and go nowhere? No, I won’t let you off! This evening we have Mademoiselle George giving a recitation, and a few people are coming; and if you don't bring your lovely girls, who are much prettier than Mademoiselle George, I give up knowing you! My husband’s not here, he has gone away to Tver, or I should have sent him for you. You must come, you positively must, before nine o’clock.’
She nodded to the dressmaker, who knew her, and was curtseying -espectfully, and seated herself in a low chair beside the looking-glass, draping the folds of her velvet gown picturesquely about her. She kept jp a flow of good-humoured and light-hearted chatter, and repeatedly expressed her enthusiastic admiration of Natasha’s beauty. She looked Trough her dresses and admired them, spoke with admiration, too, of t new dress of her own ‘of metallic gas,’ which she had received from Paris, and advised Natasha to have one like it.
, ‘But anything suits you, my charmer!’ she declared. The smile of fleasure never left Natasha’s face. She felt happy, and as it were blossom- ng out under the praises of this charming Countess Bezuhov, who had ;eemed to her before a lady so unapproachable and dignified, and was low being so kind to her. Natasha’s spirits rose, and she felt almost in
love with this handsome and good-natured woman. Ellen, for her part, was genuine in her admiration of Natasha, and in her desire to make her enjoy herself. Anatole had begged her to throw him with Natasha, and it was with that object she had come to the Rostovs’. The idea of throwing her brother and Natasha together amused her.
Although Ellen had once owed Natasha a grudge for carrying ofi Boris from her in Petersburg, she thought no more of that now, and with all her heart wished Natasha nothing but good. As she was leaving the Rostovs’, she drew her protegee aside.
‘My brother was dining with me yesterday—we half died with laughing at him—he won’t eat, and does nothing but sigh for you, my charmer! He is madly, madly in love with you, my dear.’
Natasha flushed crimson on hearing those words.
‘How she blushes, how she blushes, my pretty!’ Ellen went on. ‘You must be sure to come. If you do love some one, it is not a reason to cloister yourself. Even if you are betrothed, I am sure your betrothed would have preferred you to go into society rather than to languish in ennui.’
‘So then she knows I am engaged. So then they with her husband, with Pierre, with that good Pierre, talked and laughed about it. So that it means nothing.’
And again under Ellen’s influence what had struck her before as terrible seemed to her simple and natural. ‘And she, such a grande dame, is so kind, and obviously she likes me with all her heart,’ thought Natasha, ‘And why not enjoy myself,’ thought Natasha, gazing at Ellen with wide- open, wondering eyes.
Marya Dmitryevna came back to dinner silent and serious, having evidently been defeated by the old prince. She was too much agitated by the conflict she had been through to be able to describe the interview. To the count’s inquiries, she replied that everything had been all right and she would tell him about it next day. On hearing of the visit of Countess Bezuhov and the invitation for the evening, Marya Dmitryevna said:
‘I don’t care to associate with Countess Bezuhov and I don’t advise you to, but still, since you have promised, better go. It will divert your mind,’ she added, addressing Natasha.
XIII
Count Ilya Andreitch took his two girls to the Countess Bezuhov’s. There were a good many people assembled there. But Natasha hardly knew any of the persons present. Count Ilya Andreitch observed with dissatisfaction that almost all the company consisted of men or of ladies notorious for the freedom of their behaviour. Mademoiselle George was standing in one corner of the room, surrounded by young men. There were several Frenchmen present, and among them Metivier, who had
been a constant visitor at Countess Bezuhov’s ever since her arrival in Moscow. Count Ilya Andreitch made up his mind not to take a hand at cards, not to leave his daughter’s side, and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle George’s performance was over.
Anatole was at the door, unmistakably on the look-out for the Rostovs. At once greeting the count, he went up to Natasha and followed her in. As soon as Natasha saw him, the same feeling came upon her as at the theatre—the feeling of gratified vanity at his admiration of her, and terror at the absence of any moral barrier between them.
