战争与和平(上)-第73章

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rowing　serious　for　an　instant　at　the　sight　of　her；　and　then　hastily　smiling；　and　the　face　of　the　little　princess；　scanning　the　faces　of　the　guests　with　curiosity　to　detect　the　impression　Marie　was　making　on　them。　She　saw　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　too；　with　her　ribbon　and　her　pretty　face；　turned　towards　him　with　a　look　of　more　eagerness　than　she　had　ever　seen　on　it。　But　him　she　could　not　see；　she　could　only　see　something　large；　bright…coloured；　and　handsome　moving　towards　her；　as　she　entered　the　room。　Prince　Vassily　approached　her　first；　and　she　kissed　his　bald　head；　as　he　bent　over　to　kiss　her　hand；　and　in　reply　to　his　words　said；　that　on　the　contrary；　she　remembered　him　very　well。　Then　Anatole　went　up　to　her。　She　still　could　not　see　him。　She　only　felt　a　soft　hand　taking　her　hand　firmly；　and　she　touched　with　her　lips　a　white　forehead；　over　which　there　was　beautiful　fair　hair；　smelling　of　pomade。　When　she　glanced　at　him；　she　was　impressed　by　his　beauty。　Anatole　was　standing　with　the　thumb　of　his　right　hand　at　a　button　of　his　uniform；　his　chest　squared　and　his　spine　arched；　swinging　one　foot；　with　his　head　a　little　on　one　side；　he　was　gazing　in　silence　with　a　beaming　face　on　the　princess；　obviously　not　thinking　of　her　at　all。　Anatole　was　not　quick…witted；　he　was　not　ready；　not　eloquent　in　conversation；　but　he　had　that　faculty；　so　invaluable　for　social　purposes；　of　composure　and　imperturbable　assurance。　If　a　man　of　no　self…confidence　is　dumb　at　first　making　acquaintance；　and　betrays　a　consciousness　of　the　impropriety　of　this　dumbness　and　an　anxiety　to　find　something　to　say；　the　effect　will　be　bad。　But　Anatole　was　dumb　and　swung　his　leg；　as　he　watched　the　princess’s　hair　with　a　radiant　face。　It　was　clear　that　he　could　be　silent　with　the　same　serenity　for　a　very　long　while。　“If　anybody　feels　silence　awkward；　let　him　talk；　but　I　don’t　care　about　it；”　his　demeanour　seemed　to　say。　Moreover；　in　his　manner　to　women；　Anatole　had　that　air；　which　does　more　than　anything　else　to　excite　curiosity；　awe；　and　even　love　in　women；　the　air　of　supercilious　consciousness　of　his　own　superiority。　His　manner　seemed　to　say　to　them：　“I　know　you；　I　know；　but　why　trouble　my　head　about　you？　You’d　be　pleased　enough；　of　course！”　Possibly　he　did　not　think　this　on　meeting　women　（it　is　probable；　indeed；　that　he　did　not；　for　he　thought　very　little　at　any　time）；　but　that　was　the　effect　of　his　air　and　his　manner。　Princess　Marya　felt　it；　and　as　though　to　show　him　she　did　not　even　venture　to　think　of　inviting　his　attention；　she　turned　to　his　father。　The　conversation　was　general　and　animated；　thanks　to　the　voice　and　the　little　downy　lip；　that　flew　up　and　down　over　the　white　teeth　of　the　little　princess。　She　met　Prince　Vassily　in　that　playful　tone　so　often　adopted　by　chatty　and　lively　persons；　the　point　of　which　consists　in　the　assumption　that　there　exists　a　sort　of　long…established　series　of　jokes　and　amusing；　partly　private；　humorous　reminiscences　between　the　persons　so　addressed　and　oneself；　even　when　no　such　reminiscences　are　really　shared；　as　indeed　was　the　case　with　Prince　Vassily　and　the　little　princess。　Prince　Vassily　readily　fell　in　with　this　tone；　the　little　princess　embellished　their　supposed　common　reminiscences　with　all　sorts　of　droll　incidents　that　had　never　occurred；　and　drew　Anatole　too　into　them；　though　she　had　scarcely　known　him。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　too　succeeded　in　taking　a　part　in　them；　and　even　Princess　Marya　felt　with　pleasure　that　she　was　being　made　to　share　in　their　gaiety。
“Well；　anyway；　we　shall　take　advantage　of　you　to　the　utmost　now　we　have　got　you；　dear　prince；”　said　the　little　princess；　in　French；　of　course；　to　Prince　Vassily。　“Here　it　is　not　as　it　used　to　be　at　our　evenings　at　Annette’s；　where　you　always　ran　away。　Do　you　remember　our　dear　Annette？”
“Ah　yes；　but　then　you　mustn’t　talk　to　me　about　politics；　like　Annette！”
“And　our　little　tea…table？”
“Oh　yes！”
“Why　is　it　you　never　used　to　be　at　Annette’s？”　the　little　princess　asked　of　Anatole。　“Ah；　I　know；　I　know；”　she　said；　winking；　“your　brother；　Ippolit；　has　told　me　tales　of　your　doings。　Oh！”　She　shook　her　finger　at　him。　“I　know　about　your　exploits　in　Paris　too！”
“But　he；　Ippolit；　didn’t　tell　you；　did　he？”　said　Prince　Vassily　（addressing　his　son　and　taking　the　little　princess　by　the　arm；　as　though　she　would　have　run　away　and　he　were　just　in　time　to　catch　her）；　“he　didn’t　tell　you　how　he；　Ippolit　himself；　was　breaking　his　heart　over　our　sweet　princess；　and　how　she　turned　him　out　of　doors。”
“Oh！　she　is　the　pearl　of　women；　princess；”　he　said；　addressing　Princess　Marya。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　on　her　side；　at　the　mention　of　Paris；　did　not　let　her　chance　slip　for　taking　a　share　in　the　common　stock　of　recollections。
She　ventured　to　inquire　if　it　were　long　since　Anatole　was　in　Paris；　and　how　he　had　liked　that　city。　Anatole　very　readily　answered　the　Frenchwoman；　and　smiling　and　staring　at　her；　he　talked　to　her　about　her　native　country。　At　first　sight　of　the　pretty　Mademoiselle；　Anatole　had　decided　that　even　here　at　Bleak　Hills　he　should　not　be　dull。　“Not　half　bad…looking；”　he　thought；　scrutinising　her；　“she’s　not　half　bad…looking；　that　companion！　I　hope　she’ll　bring　her　along　when　we’re　married；”　he　mused；　“she　is　a　nice　little　thing。”
The　old　prince　was　dressing　deliberately　in　his　room；　scowling　and　ruminating　on　what　he　was　to　do。　The　arrival　of　these　visitors　angered　him。　“What’s　Prince　Vassily　to　me；　he　and　his　son？　Prince　Vassily　is　a　braggart；　an　empty…headed　fool；　and　a　nice　fellow　the　son　is；　I　expect；”　he　growled　to　himself。　What　angered　him　was　that　this　visit　revived　in　his　mind　the　unsettled　question；　continually　thrust　aside；　the　question　in　regard　to　which　the　old　prince　always　deceived　himself。　That　question　was　whether　he　would　ever　bring　himself　to　part　with　his　daughter　and　give　her　to　a　husband。　The　prince　could　never　bring　himself　to　put　this　question　directly　to　himself；　knowing　beforehand　that　if　he　did　he　would　have　to　answer　it　justly；　but　against　justice　in　this　case　was　ranged　more　than　feeling；　the　very　possibility　of　life。　Life　without　Princess　Marya　was　unthinkable　to　the　old　prince；　little　as　in　appearance　he　prized　her。　“And　what　is　she　to　be　married　for？”　he　thought；　“to　be　unhappy；　beyond　a　doubt。　Look　at　Liza　with　Andrey　（and　a　better　husband；　I　should　fancy；　it　would　be　difficult　to　find　nowadays）；　but　she’s　not　satisfied　with　her　lot。
And　who　would　marry　her　for　love？　She’s　plain　and　ungraceful。　She’d　be　married　for　her　connections；　her　wealth。　And　don’t　old　maids　get　on　well　enough？　They　are　happier　really！”　So　Prince　Nikolay　Andreivitch　mused；　as　he　dressed；　yet　the　question　constantly　deferred　demanded　an　immediate　decision。　Prince　Vassily　had　brought　his　son　obviously　with　the　intention　of　making　an　offer；　and　probably　that　day　or　the　next　he　would　ask　for　a　direct　answer。　The　name；　the　position　in　the　world；　was　suitable。　“Well；　I’m　not　against　it；”　the　prince　kept　saying　to　himself；　“only　let　him　be　worthy　of　her。　That’s　what　we　shall　see。　That’s　what　we　shall　see；”　he　said　aloud；　“that’s　what　we　shall　see；”　and　with　his　usual　alert　step　he　walked　into　the　drawing…room；　taking　in　the　whole　company　in　a　rapid　glance。　He　noticed　the　change　in　the　dress　of　the　little　princess　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne’s　ribbon；　and　the　hideous　way　in　which　Princess　Marya’s　hair　was　done；　and　the　smiles　of　the　Frenchwoman　and　Anatole；　and　the　isolation　of　his　daughter　in　the　general　talk。　“She’s　decked　herself　out　like　a　fool！”　he　thought；　glancing　vindictively　at　his　daughter。　“No　shame　in　her；　while　he　doesn’t　care　to　speak　to　her！”
He　went　up　to　Prince　Vassily。
“Well；　how　d’ye　do；　how　d’ye　do；　glad　to　see　you。”
“For　a　friend　that　one　loves　seven　versts　is　close　by；”　said　Prince　Vassily；　quoting　the　Russian　proverb；　and　speaking　in　his　usual　rapid；　self…confident；　and　familiar　tone。　“This　is　my　second；　I　beg　you　to　love　him　and　welcome　him；　as　they　say。”
Prince　Nikolay　Andreivitch　scrutinised　Anatole。
“A　fine　fellow；　a　fine　fellow！”　he　said。　“Well；　come　and　give　me　a　kiss；”　and　he　offered　him　his　cheek。　Anatole　kissed　the　old　man；　and　looked　at　him　with　curiosity　and　perfect　compos