战争与和平(上)-第112章

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FOR　TWO　DAYS　after　the　dance；　Rostov　had　not　seen　Dolohov　at　his　people’s　house　nor　found　him　at　home；　on　the　third　day　he　received　a　note　from　him。
“As　I　do　not　intend　to　be　at　your　house　again　owing　to　causes　of　which　you　are　aware；　and　am　going　to　rejoin　the　regiment；　I　am　giving　a　farewell　supper　to　my　friends—come　to　the　English　Hotel。”　On　the　day　fixed　Rostov　went　at　about　ten　o’clock；　from　the　theatre　where　he　had　been　with　his　family　and　Denisov；　to　the　English　Hotel。　He　was　at　once　conducted　to　the　best　room　in　the　hotel；　which　Dolohov　had　taken　for　the　occasion。
Some　twenty　men　were　gathered　about　a　table　before　which　Dolohov　was　sitting　between　two　candles。　On　the　table　lay　money　and　notes；　and　Dolohov　was　keeping　the　bank。　Nikolay　had　not　seen　him　again　since　his　offer　and　Sonya’s　refusal；　and　he　felt　uneasy　at　the　thought　of　meeting　him。
Dolohov’s　clear；　cold　glance　met　Rostov　in　the　doorway　as　though　he　had　been　expecting　him　a　long　while。
“It’s　a　long　while　since　we’ve　met；”　said　he；　“thanks　for　coming。　I’ll　just　finish　dealing　here；　and　Ilyushka　will　make　his　appearance　with　his　chorus。”
“I　did　go　to　see　you；”　said　Rostov；　flushing。
Dolohov　made　him　no　reply。
“You　might　put　down　a　stake；”　he　said。
Rostov　recalled　at　that　instant　a　strange　conversation　he　once　had　with　Dolohov。　“None　but　fools　trust　to　luck　in　play；”　Dolohov　had　said　then。　“Or　are　you　afraid　to　play　with　me？”　Dolohov　said　now；　as　though　divining　Rostov’s　thought；　and　he　smiled。　Behind　his　smile　Rostov　saw　in　him　that　mood　which　he　had　seen　in　him　at　the　club　dinner　and　at　other　times；　when　Dolohov　seemed；　as　it　were；　weary　of　the　monotony　of　daily　life；　and　felt　a　craving　to　escape　from　it　by　some　strange；　for　the　most　part　cruel；　act。
Rostov　felt　ill　at　ease；　he　racked　his　brain　and　could　not　find　in　it　a　joke　in　which　to　reply　to　Dolohov’s　words。　But　before　he　had　time　to　do　so；　Dolohov；　looking　straight　into　Rostov’s　face；　said　to　him　slowly　and　deliberately　so　that　all　could　hear：　“Do　you　remember；　I　was　talking　to　you　about　play…he’s　a　fool　who　trusts　to　luck　in　play；　one　must　play　a　sure　game；　and　I　want　to　try。”
“Try　his　luck；　or　try　to　play　a　sure　game？”　wondered　Rostov。
“Indeed；　and　you’d　better　not　play；”　he　added；　and　throwing　down　a　pack　he　had　just　torn　open；　he　said；　“Bank；　gentlemen！”
Moving　the　money　forward；　Dolohov　began　dealing。
Rostov　sat　near　him；　and　at　first　he　did　not　play。　Dolohov　glanced　at　him。
“Why　don’t　you　play？”　said　Dolohov。　And　strange　to　say；　Nikolay　felt　that　he　could　not　help　taking　up　a　card；　staking　a　trifling　sum　on　it；　and　beginning　to　play。
“I　have　no　money　with　me；”　said　Rostov。
“I’ll　trust　you！”
Rostov　staked　five　roubles　on　a　card　and　lost　it；　staked　again　and　again　lost。　Dolohov　“killed；”　that　is；　beat　ten　cards　in　succession　from　Rostov。
“Gentlemen；”　he　said；　after　dealing　again　for　a　little　while；　“I　beg　you　to　put　the　money　on　the　cards　or　else　I　shall　get　muddled　over　the　reckoning。”
One　of　the　players　said　that　he　hoped　he　could　trust　him。
“I　can　trust　you；　but　I’m　afraid　of　making　mistakes；　I　beg　you　to　lay　the　money　on　the　cards；”　answered　Dolohov。　“You　needn’t　worry；　we’ll　settle　our　accounts；”　he　added　to　Rostov。
The　play　went　on；　a　footman　never　ceased　carrying　round　champagne。
All　Rostov’s　cards　were　beaten；　and　the　sum　of　eight　hundred　roubles　was　scored　against　him。　He　wrote　on　a　card　eight　hundred　roubles；　but　while　champagne　was　being　poured　out　for　him；　he　changed　his　mind　and　again　wrote　down　the　usual　stake；　twenty　roubles。
“Leave　it；”　said　Dolohov；　thought　he　did　not　seem　to　be　looking　at　Rostov；　“you’ll　win　it　back　all　the　sooner。　I　lose　to　the　rest；　while　I　win　from　you。　Or　perhaps　you　are　afraid　of　me；”　he　repeated。
Rostov　excused　himself；　left　the　stake　of　eight　hundred　and　laid　down　the　seven　of　hearts；　a　card　with　a　corner　torn；　which　he　had　picked　up　from　the　ground。　Well　he　remembered　that　card　afterwards。　He　laid　down　the　seven　of　hearts；　wrote　on　it　with　a　broken　piece　of　chalk　800　in　bold　round　figures；　he　drank　the　glass　of　warmed　champagne　that　had　been　given　him；　smiled　at　Dolohov’s　words；　and　with　a　sinking　at　his　heart；　waiting　for　the　seven　of　hearts；　he　watched　Dolohov’s　hands　that　held　the　pack。　The　loss　or　gain　of　that　card　meant　a　great　deal　for　Rostov。　On　the　previous　Sunday　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　had　given　his　son　two　thousand　roubles；　and　though　he　never　liked　speaking　of　money　difficulties；　he　told　him　that　this　money　was　the　last　they　would　get　till　May；　and　so　he　begged　him　to　be　a　little　more　careful。　Nikolay　said　that　that　was　too　much　really　for　him；　and　that　he　would　give　him　his　word　of　honour　not　to　come　for　more　before　May。　Now　there　was　only　twelve　hundred　out　of　that　two　thousand　left。　So　that　on　the　seven　of　hearts　there　hung　not　merely　the　loss　of　sixteen　hundred　roubles；　but　the　consequent　inevitable　betrayal　of　his　word。　With　a　sinking　heart　he　watched　Dolohov’s　hands　and　thought：　“Well；　make　haste　and　deal　me　that　card　and　I’ll　take　my　cap　and　drive　home　to　supper　with　Denisov；　Natasha；　and　Sonya；　and　I’m　sure　I’ll　never　take　a　card　in　my　hand　again。”　At　that　moment　his　home　life；　his　jokes　with　Petya；　his　talks　with　Sonya；　his　duets　with　Natasha；　his　game　of　picquet　with　his　father；　even　his　comfortable　bed　in　the　house　in　Povarsky；　rose　before　his　imagination　with　such　vividness；　such　brightness；　and　such　charm；　that　it　seemed　as　though　it　were　all　some　long　past；　lost；　and　hitherto　unappreciated　happiness。　He　could　not　conceive　that　a　stupid　chance；　leading　the　seven　to　the　right　rather　than　to　the　left；　could　deprive　him　of　all　that　happiness　felt　now　with　new　comprehension　and　seen　in　a　new　radiance；　could　hurl　him　into　the　abyss　of　unknown　and　undefined　misery。　It　could　not　be；　but　yet　it　was　with　a　thrill　of　dread　that　he　waited　for　the　movement　of　Dolohov’s　hands。　Those　broad…boned；　reddish　hands；　with　hairs　visible　under　the　shirt…cuffs；　laid　down　the　pack　of　cards　and　took　up　the　glass　and　pipe　that　had　been　handed　him。
“So　you’re　not　afraid　to　play　with　me？”　repeated　Dolohov；　and　as　though　he　were　about　to　tell　a　good　story；　he　laid　down　the　cards；　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　and　began　deliberately　with　a　smile：
“Yes；　gentlemen；　I　have　been　told　there’s　a　story　going　about　Moscow　that　I’m　too　sharp　with　cards；　so　I　advise　you　to　be　a　little　on　your　guard　with　me。”
“Come；　deal　away！”　said　Rostov。
“Ugh；　these　Moscow　gossips！”　said　Dolohov；　and　he　took　up　the　cards　with　a　smile。
“Aaah！”　Rostov　almost　screamed；　putting　both　his　hands　up　to　his　hair。　The　seven　he　needed　was　lying　uppermost；　the　first　card　in　the　pack。　He　had　lost　more　than　he　could　pay。
“Don’t　swim　beyond　your　depth；　though；”　said　Dolohov；　with　a　passing　glance　at　Rostov；　and　he　went　on。


Chapter　14
WITHIN　AN　HOUR　AND　A　HALF　the　greater　number　of　the　players　were　no　longer　seriously　interested　in　their　own　play。
The　whole　interest　of　the　game　was　concentrated　on　Rostov。　Instead　of　a　mere　loss　of　sixteen　hundred　roubles　he　had　by　now　scored　against　him　a　long　column　of　figures；　which　he　had　added　up　to　the　tenth　thousand；　though　he　vaguely　supposed　that　by　now　it　had　risen　to　fifteen　thousand。　In　reality　the　score　already　exceeded　twenty　thousand　roubles。　Dolohov　was　not　now　listening　to　stories；　or　telling　them；　he　followed　every　movement　of　Rostov’s　hands；　and　from　time　to　time　took　a　cursory　survey　of　his　score　with　him。　He　had　resolved　to　keep　the　play　up　till　that　score　had　reached　forty…three　thousand。　He　had　fixed　on　that　number　because　it　represented　the　sum　of　his　and　Sonya’s　ages。　Rostov　sat　with　his　head　propped　in　both　hands；　before　the　wine…stained　table　scrawled　over　with　scorings　and　littered　with　cards。　One　torturing　sensation　never　left　him；　those　broad…boned；　reddish　hands；　with　the　hairs　visible　under　the　shirt…cuffs；　those　hands　which　he　loved　and　hated；　held　him　in　their　power。
“Six　hundred　roubles；　ace；　corner；　nine；　winning　it　back’s　out　of　the　question！…And　how　happy　I　should　be　at　home。…The　knave　double　or　quits；　it　can’t　be！…And　why　is　he　doing　this　to　me？…”　Rostov　pondered　and　thought。　Sometimes　he　put　a　higher　stake　on　a　c