War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [729]
“No, I’ll postpone it a little. I’ll tell you later. Forgive me for the trouble,” said Pierre, and, looking at Savelyich’s smile, he thought: “How strange, though, that he doesn’t know there’s no more Petersburg now and first of all this thing must be resolved. However, he surely does know and is only pretending. Shall I talk to him? What does he think?” Pierre wondered. “No, some other time.”
At breakfast, Pierre told the princess that he had been at Princess Marya’s yesterday and had found there—can you imagine whom?—Natalie Rostov.
The princess pretended that she saw nothing more extraordinary in this news than if he had seen some Anna Semyonovna.
“Do you know her?” asked Pierre.
“I’ve seen the princess,” she replied. “I heard they were matching her with the young Rostov. That would be very good for the Rostovs; they say they’re completely ruined.”
“No, do you know Miss Rostov?”
“I only heard about that story then. A great pity.”
“No, she doesn’t understand, or she’s pretending,” thought Pierre. “I’d better not say anything to her either.”
The princess was also preparing provisions for Pierre’s trip.
“How kind they all are,” thought Pierre, “to busy themselves with all this now, when it certainly can’t interest them anymore. And all for me; that’s the astonishing thing.”
That same day the police chief came to Pierre with an offer to send an agent to the Faceted Palace to retrieve things that were being distributed to their owners.
“And this one, too,” thought Pierre, looking into the police chief’s face, “such a nice, handsome officer, and so kind! To be concerned with such trifles now. And yet they say he’s dishonest and profits from it. What nonsense! And anyhow, why shouldn’t he profit? He was brought up that way. And they all do it. But such a pleasant, kind face, and he smiles, looking at me.”
Pierre went to dine at Princess Marya’s.
Driving along the streets amidst the charred ruins of houses, he was astonished at the beauty of these ruins. The chimney stacks of the houses, the broken-down walls, picturesquely reminiscent of the Rhine and the Colosseum, were strung out, hiding each other, through the burnt quarters. Cabbies and their passengers, carpenters notching frames, market women and shopkeepers all glanced at Pierre with merry, beaming faces and seemed to be saying: “Ah, here he is! We’ll see what comes of it!”
As he was going into Princess Marya’s house, doubt came over Pierre whether it was true that he had been there yesterday, had seen Natasha and spoken with her. “Maybe I invented it. Maybe I’ll go in and not see anybody.” But he had no sooner entered the room than he sensed her presence with his whole being, by the instant loss of his freedom. She was in the same black dress with soft folds, and her hair was done in the same way as yesterday, yet she was quite different. If she had been like that yesterday, when he came into the room, he would not have failed to recognize her for a moment.
She was the same as he had known her almost as a child and then as Prince Andrei’s fiancée. Her eyes shone with a merry, questioning brightness; her face had a tender and strangely mischievous expression.
Pierre dined and would have sat there all evening, but Princess Marya went to vespers and Pierre left with them.
The next day Pierre came early, dined, and sat there all evening. Though Princess Marya and Natasha were obviously glad of their guest, though the whole interest of Pierre’s life was now centered on this house, by evening they had talked everything over, and the conversation passed constantly from one insignificant subject to another, and frequently broke off. Pierre sat for so long that evening that Princess Marya and Natasha kept glancing at each other, obviously waiting for him to go. Pierre saw it, yet he could not go. It was becoming painful, awkward, but he went on sitting, because he could not get up and go.
Princess Marya, seeing no end to it, got up first and, complaining of a migraine, began saying good-bye.
“So you’re going to Petersburg tomorrow?