War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [299]
The sounds of the polonaise, which had continued for quite a long time, were already beginning to seem sad—a reminiscence in Natasha’s ears. She wanted to cry. Mme Peronsky left them. The count was at the other end of the room; the countess, Sonya, and she stood alone, as if in a forest, in this crowd of strangers, of no interest or need to anyone. Prince Andrei walked past them with some lady, obviously not recognizing them. The handsome Anatole, smiling, was saying something to the lady he was leading, and glanced at Natasha’s face as one would glance at a wall. Boris walked past them twice and turned away each time. Berg and his wife, who were not dancing, came up to them.
For Natasha, this family intimacy here, at a ball, seemed offensive, as if there were no other place for family conversations except at a ball. She did not look at and did not listen to Vera, who was saying something to her about her green dress.
Finally, the sovereign stopped beside his last partner (he had danced with three), and the music ceased. A preoccupied adjutant ran up to the Rostovs, asking them to step aside somewhere, though they were standing at the wall, and from the gallery came the distinct, careful, and engagingly rhythmic sounds of a waltz. The sovereign looked over the room with a smile. A minute passed—no one began yet. The adjutant master of ceremonies went up to Countess Bezukhov and asked her to dance. Smiling, she raised her arm and placed it, without looking at him, on the adjutant’s shoulder. The adjutant master of ceremonies, an expert in these matters, confidently, unhurriedly, and rhythmically, keeping firm hold of his partner, set off with her at first in a glissade around the edge of the circle, then, at the corner of the room, took her left arm, turned her, and now, above the ever-quickening sounds of the music, one could hear only the rhythmic jingle of the spurs on the adjutant’s quick and nimble feet, and at every third beat, the velvet dress of his partner seemed to flash, flying, as she turned. Natasha looked at them and was ready to weep that it was not she dancing this first turn of the waltz.
Prince Andrei, in his white cavalry colonel’s uniform, stockings, and low boots, animated and merry, stood in the first rows of the circle, not far from the Rostovs. Baron Vierhoff was talking to him about the first session of the State Council,18 planned for the next day. Prince Andrei, being close to Speransky and taking part in the work of the legislative commission, could give accurate information about the next day’s meeting, of which various rumors were circulating. But he was not listening to what Vierhoff was telling him, and looked now at the sovereign, now at the gentlemen preparing to dance, who had not yet ventured into the circle.
Prince Andrei was observing these gentlemen grown timid in the sovereign’s presence and ladies faint with the desire to be invited.
Pierre came over to Prince Andrei and took him by the arm.
“You always dance. My protégée, the young Miss Rostov, is here. Ask her,” he said.
“Where?” asked Bolkonsky. “I beg your pardon,” he said, turning to the baron, “we can finish this conversation elsewhere—at a ball one must dance.” He stepped forward, in the direction Pierre had indicated to him. Natasha’s desperate, rapt face caught Prince Andrei’s eye. He recognized her, guessed her feeling, realized that she was a débutante, remembered her conversation on the window ledge, and with a merry expression on his face went up to Countess Rostov.
“Allow me to introduce you to my daughter,” the countess said, blushing.
“I have the pleasure of being acquainted, if the countess remembers me,” said Prince Andrei, with a courteous and low bow, totally contradicting Mme Peronsky’s remark about his rudeness, going up to Natasha and raising