战争与和平(上)-第34章

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efore　she　received　a　promise　to　grant　it；　she　could　not　take　that　something　out　of　her　reticule。　She　looked　timidly　with　imploring　eyes　at　her　brother。
“Even　if　it　were　a　great　trouble　…”　answered　Prince　Andrey；　seeming　to　guess　what　the　favour　was。
“You　may　think　what　you　please　about　it。　I　know　you　are　like　mon　père。　Think　what　you　please；　but　do　this　for　my　sake。　Do；　please。　The　father　of　my　father；　our　grandfather；　always　wore　it　in　all　his　wars　…”　She　still　did　not　take　out　what　she　was　holding　in　her　reticule。　“You　promise　me；　then？”
“Of　course；　what　is　it？”
“Andrey；　I　am　blessing　you　with　the　holy　image；　and　you　must　promise　me　you　will　never　take　it　off。…　You　promise？”
“If　it　does　not　weigh　a　ton　and　won’t　drag　my　neck　off　…　To　please　you；”　said　Prince　Andrey。　The　same　second　he　noticed　the　pained　expression　that　came　over　his　sister’s　face　at　this　jest；　and　felt　remorseful。　“I　am　very　glad；　really　very　glad；　dear；”　he　added。
“Against　your　own　will　He　will　save　and　will　have　mercy　on　you　and　turn　you　to　Himself；　because　in　Him　alone　is　truth　and　peace；”　she　said　in　a　voice　shaking　with　emotion；　and　with　a　solemn　gesture　holding　in　both　hands　before　her　brother　an　old…fashioned；　little；　oval　holy　image　of　the　Saviour　with　a　black　face　in　a　silver　setting；　on　a　little　silver　chain　of　delicate　workmanship。　She　crossed　herself；　kissed　the　image；　and　gave　it　to　Andrey。
“Please；　Andrey；　for　my　sake。”
Rays　of　kindly；　timid　light　beamed　from　her　great　eyes。　Those　eyes　lighted　up　all　the　thin；　sickly　face　and　made　it　beautiful。　Her　brother　would　have　taken　the　image；　but　she　stopped　him。　Andrey　understood；　crossed　himself；　and　kissed　the　image。　His　face　looked　at　once　tender　（he　was　touched）　and　ironical。
“Merci；　mon　ami。”　She　kissed　him　on　the　forehead　and　sat　down　again　on　the　sofa。　Both　were　silent。
“So　as　I　was　telling　you；　Andrey；　you　must　be　kind　and　generous　as　you　always　used　to　be。　Don’t　judge　Liza　harshly；”　she　began；　“she　is　so　sweet；　so　good…natured；　and　her　position　is　a　very　hard　one　just　now。”
“I　fancy　I　have　said　nothing　to　you；　Masha；　of　my　blaming　my　wife　for　anything　or　being　dissatisfied　with　her。　What　makes　you　say　all　this　to　me？”
Princess　Marya　coloured　in　patches；　and　was　mute；　as　though　she　felt　guilty。
“I　have　said　nothing　to　you；　but　you　have　been　talked　to。　And　that　makes　me　sad。”
The　red　patches　grew　deeper　on　the　forehead　and　neck　and　cheeks　of　Princess　Marya。　She　would　have　said　something；　but　could　not　utter　the　words。　Her　brother　had　guessed　right：　his　wife　had　shed　tears　after　dinner；　had　said　that　she　had　a　presentiment　of　a　bad　confinement；　that　she　was　afraid　of　it；　and　had　complained　of　her　hard　lot；　of　her　father…in…law　and　her　husband。　After　crying　she　had　fallen　asleep。　Prince　Andrey　felt　sorry　for　his　sister。
“Let　me　tell　you　one　thing；　Masha；　I　can’t　reproach　my　wife　for　anything；　I　never　have　and　I　never　shall；　nor　can　I　reproach　myself　for　anything　in　regard　to　her；　and　that　shall　always　be　so　in　whatever　circumstances　I　may　be　placed。　But　if　you　want　to　know　the　truth　…　if　you　want　to　know　if　I　am　happy。　No。　Is　she　happy？　No。　Why　is　it　so？　I　don’t　know。”
As　he　said　this；　he　went　up　to　his　sister；　and　stooping　over　her　kissed　her　on　the　forehead。　His　fine　eyes　shone　with　an　unaccustomed　light　of　intelligence　and　goodness。　But　he　was　not　looking　at　his　sister；　but　towards　the　darkness　of　the　open　door；　over　her　head。
“Let　us　go　to　her；　I　must　say　good…bye。　Or　you　go　alone　and　wake　her　up；　and　I’ll　come　in　a　moment。　Petrushka！”　he　called　to　his　valet；　“come　here　and　take　away　these　things。　This　is　to　go　in　the　seat　and　this　on　the　right　side。”
Princess　Marya　got　up　and　moved　toward　the　door。　She　stopped。　“Andrey；　if　you　had　faith；　you　would　have　appealed　to　God；　to　give　you　the　love　that　you　do　not　feel；　and　your　prayer　would　have　been　granted。”
“Yes；　perhaps　so；”　said　Prince　Andrey。　“Go；　Masha；　I’ll　come　immediately。”
On　the　way　to　his　sister’s　room；　in　the　gallery　that　united　one　house　to　the　other；　Prince　Andrey　encountered　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　smiling　sweetly。　It　was　the　third　time　that　day　that　with　an　innocent　and　enthusiastic　smile　she　had　thrown　herself　in　his　way　in　secluded　passages。
“Ah；　I　thought　you　were　in　your　own　room；”　she　said；　for　some　reason　blushing　and　casting　down　her　eyes。　Prince　Andrey　looked　sternly　at　her。　A　sudden　look　of　wrathful　exasperation　came　into　his　face。　He　said　nothing　to　her；　but　stared　at　her　forehead　and　her　hair；　without　looking　at　her　eyes；　with　such　contempt　that　the　Frenchwoman　crimsoned　and　went　away　without　a　word。　When　he　reached　his　sister’s　room；　the　little　princess　was　awake　and　her　gay　little　voice　could　be　heard　through　the　open　door；　hurrying　one　word　after　another。　She　talked　as　though；　after　being　long　restrained；　she　wanted　to　make　up　for　lost　time；　and；　as　always；　she　spoke　French
“No；　but　imagine　the　old　Countess　Zubov；　with　false　curls　and　her　mouth　full　of　false　teeth　as　though　she　wanted　to　defy　the　years。　Ha；　ha；　ha；　Marie！”
Just　the　same　phrase　about　Countess　Zubov　and　just　the　same　laugh　Prince　Andrey　had　heard　five　times　already　from　his　wife　before　outsiders。　He　walked　softly　into　the　room。　The　little　princess；　plump　and　rosy；　was　sitting　in　a　low　chair　with　her　work　in　her　hands；　trotting　out　her　Petersburg　reminiscences　and　phrases。　Prince　Andrey　went　up；　stroked　her　on　the　head；　and　asked　if　she　had　got　over　the　fatigue　of　the　journey。　She　answered　him　and　went　on　talking。
The　coach　with　six　horses　stood　at　the　steps。　It　was　a　dark　autumn　night。　The　coachman　could　not　see　the　shafts　of　the　carriage。　Servants　with　lanterns　were　running　to　and　fro　on　the　steps。　The　immense　house　glared　with　its　great　windows　lighted　up。　The　house…serfs　were　crowding　in　the　outer　hall；　anxious　to　say　good…bye　to　their　young　prince。　In　the　great　hall　within　stood　all　the　members　of　the　household：　Mihail　Ivanovitch；　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　Princess　Marya；　and　the　little　princess。　Prince　Andrey　had　been　summoned　to　the　study　of　his　father；　who　wanted　to　take　leave　of　him　alone。　All　were　waiting　for　him　to　come　out　again。　When　Prince　Andrey　went　into　the　study；　the　old　prince　was　in　his　old…age　spectacles　and　his　white　dressing…gown；　in　which　he　never　saw　any　one　but　his　son。　He　was　sitting　at　the　table　writing。　He　looked　round。
“Going？”　And　he　went　on　writing　again。
“I　have　come　to　say　good…bye。”
“Kiss　me　here；”　he　touched　his　cheek；　“thanks；　thanks！”
“What　are　you　thanking　me　for？”
“For　not　lingering　beyond　your　fixed　time；　for　not　hanging　about　a　woman’s　petticoats。　Duty　before　everything。　Thanks；　thanks！”　And　he　went　on　writing；　so　that　ink　spurted　from　the　scratching　pen。
“If　you　want　to　say　anything；　say　it。　I　can　do　these　two　things　at　once；”　he　added。
“About　my　wife　…　I’m　ashamed　as　it　is　to　leave　her　on　your　hands。…”
“Why　talk　nonsense？　Say　what　you　want。”
“When　my　wife’s　confinement　is　due；　send　to　Moscow　for　an　accoucheur　…　Let　him　be　here。”
The　old　man　stopped　and　stared　with　stern　eyes　at　his　son；　as　though　not　understanding。
“I　know　that　no　one　can　be　of　use；　if　nature　does　not　assist；”　said　Prince　Andrey；　evidently　confused。　“I　admit　that　out　of　a　million　cases　only　one　goes　wrong；　but　it’s　her　fancy　and　mine。　They’ve　been　telling　her　things；　she’s　had　a　dream　and　she’s　frightened。”
“H’m…h’m　…”　the　old　prince　muttered　to　himself；　going　on　with　his　writing。　“I　will　do　so。”　He　scribbled　his　signature；　and　suddenly　turned　quickly　to　his　son　and　laughed。
“It’s　a　bad　business；　eh？”
“What’s　a　bad　business；　father？”
“Wife！”　the　old　prince　said　briefly　and　significantly。
“I　don’t　understand；”　said　Prince　Andrey。
“But　there’s　no　help　for　it；　my　dear　boy；”　said　the　old　prince；　“they’re　all　like　that；　and　there’s　no　getting　unmarried　again。　Don’t　be　afraid；　I　won’t　say　a　word　to　any　one；　but　you　know　it　yourself。”
He　grasped　his　hand　with　his　thin；　little；　bony　fingers；　shook　it；　looked　straight　into　his　son’s　face　with　his　keen　eyes；　that　seemed　to　see　right　through　any　one；　and　again　he　laughed　his　frigid　laugh。
The　son　sighed；　acknowledging　in　that　sigh　that　his　father　understo