战争与和平(上)-第74章

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“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　composure；　waiting　for　some　instance　of　the　eccentricity　his　father　had　told　him　to　expect。
The　old　prince　sat　down　in　his　customary　place　in　the　corner　of　the　sofa；　moved　up　an　armchair　for　Prince　Vassily；　pointed　to　it；　and　began　questioning　him　about　political　affairs　and　news。　He　seemed　to　be　listening　with　attention　to　what　Prince　Vassily　was　saying；　but　glanced　continually　at　Princess　Marya。
“So　they’re　writing　from　Potsdam　already？”　He　repeated　Prince　Vassily’s　last　words；　and　suddenly　getting　up；　he　went　up　to　his　daughter。
“So　it　was　for　visitors　you　dressed　yourself　up　like　this；　eh？”　he　said。　“Nice　of　you；　very　nice。　You　do　your　hair　up　in　some　new　fashion　before　visitors；　and　before　visitors；　I　tell　you；　never　dare　in　future　to　change　your　dress　without　my　leave。”
“It　was　my　fault…”　stammered　the　little　princess；　flushing。
“You　are　quite　at　liberty；”　said　the　old　prince；　with　a　scrape　before　his　daughter…in…law；　“but　she　has　no　need　to　disfigure　herself—she’s　ugly　enough　without　that。”　And　he　sat　down　again　in　his　place；　taking　no　further　notice　of　his　daughter；　whom　he　had　reduced　to　tears。
“On　the　contrary；　that　coiffure　is　extremely　becoming　to　the　princess；”　said　Prince　Vassily。
“Well；　my　young　prince；　what’s　your　name？”　said　the　old　prince；　turning　to　Anatole。　“Come　here；　let　us　talk　to　you　a　little　and　make　your　acquaintance。”
“Now　the　fun’s　beginning；”　thought　Anatole；　and　with　a　smile　he　sat　down　by　the　old　prince。
“That’s　it；　they　tell　me；　my　dear　boy；　you　have　been　educated　abroad。　Not　taught　to　read　and　write　by　the　deacon；　like　your　father　and　me。　Tell　me；　are　you　serving　now　in　the　Horse　Guards？”　asked　the　old　man；　looking　closely　and　intently　at　Anatole。
“No；　I　have　transferred　into　the　line；”　answered　Anatole；　with　difficulty　restraining　his　laughter。
“Ah！　a　good　thing。　So　you　want　to　serve　your　Tsar　and　your　country；　do　you？　These　are　times　of　war。　Such　a　fine　young　fellow　ought　to　be　on　service；　he　ought　to　be　on　service。　Ordered　to　the　front；　eh？”
“No；　prince；　our　regiment　has　gone　to　the　front。　But　I’m　attached。　What　is　it　I’m　attached　to；　papa？”　Anatole　turned　to　his　father　with　a　laugh。
“He　is　a　credit　to　the　service；　a　credit。　What　is　it　I’m　attached　to！　Ha…ha…ha！”　laughed　the　old　prince；　and　Anatole　laughed　still　louder。　Suddenly　the　old　prince　frowned。　“Well；　you　can　go；”　he　said　to　Anatole。　With　a　smile　Anatole　returned　to　the　ladies。
“So　you　had　him　educated　abroad；　Prince　Vassily？　Eh？”　said　the　old　prince　to　Prince　Vassily。
“I　did　what　I　could；　and　I　assure　you　the　education　there　is　far　better　than　ours。”
“Yes；　nowadays　everything’s　different；　everything’s　new…fashioned。　A　fine　fellow！　a　fine　fellow！　Well；　come　to　my　room。”　He　took　Prince　Vassily’s　arm　and　led　him　away　to　his　study。
Left　alone　with　the　old　prince；　Prince　Vassily　promptly　made　known　to　him　his　wishes　and　his　hopes。
“Why；　do　you　imagine；”　said　the　old　prince　wrathfully；　“that　I　keep　her；　that　I　can’t　part　with　her？　What　an　idea！”　he　protested　angrily。　“I　am　ready　for　it　to…morrow！　Only；　I　tell　you；　I　want　to　know　my　future　son…in…law　better。　You　know　my　principles：　everything　open！　To…morrow　I　will　ask　her　in　your　presence；　if　she　wishes　it；　let　him　stay　on。　Let　him　stay　on；　and　I’ll　see。”　The　prince　snorted。　“Let　her　marry；　it’s　nothing　to　me；”　he　screamed　in　the　piercing　voice　in　which　he　had　screamed　at　saying　good…bye　to　his　son。
“I　will　be　frank　with　you；”　said　Prince　Vassily　in　the　tone　of　a　crafty　man；　who　is　convinced　of　the　uselessness　of　being　crafty　with　so　penetrating　a　companion。　“You　see　right　through　people；　I　know。　Anatole　is　not　a　genius；　but　a　straightforward；　good…hearted　lad；　good　as　a　son　or　a　kinsman。”
“Well；　well；　very　good；　we　shall　see。”
As　is　always　the　case　with　women　who　have　for　a　long　while　been　living　a　secluded　life　apart　from　masculine　society；　on　the　appearance　of　Anatole　on　the　scene；　all　the　three　women　in　Prince　Nikolay　Andreivitch’s　house　felt　alike　that　their　life　had　not　been　real　life　till　then。　Their　powers　of　thought；　of　feeling；　of　observation；　were　instantly　redoubled。　It　seemed　as　though　their　life　had　till　then　been　passed　in　darkness；　and　was　all　at　once　lighted　up　by　a　new　brightness　that　was　full　of　significance。
Princess　Marya　did　not　remember　her　face　and　her　coiffure。　The　handsome；　open　face　of　the　man　who　might；　perhaps；　become　her　husband；　absorbed　her　whole　attention。　She　thought　him　kind；　brave；　resolute；　manly；　and　magnanimous。　She　was　convinced　of　all　that。　Thousands　of　dreams　of　her　future　married　life　were　continually　floating　into　her　imagination。　She　drove　them　away　and　tried　to　disguise　them。
“But　am　I　not　too　cold　with　him？”　thought　Princess　Marya。　“I　try　to　check　myself；　because　at　the　bottom　of　my　heart　I　feel　myself　too　close　to　him。　But　of　course　he　doesn’t　know　all　I　think　of　him；　and　may　imagine　I　don’t　like　him。”
And　she　tried　and　knew　not　how　to　be　cordial　to　him。
“The　poor　girl　is　devilish　ugly；”　Anatole　was　thinking　about　her。
Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　who　had　also　been　thrown　by　Anatole’s　arrival　into　a　high　state　of　excitement；　was　absorbed　in　reflections　of　a　different　order。　Naturally；　a　beautiful　young　girl　with　no　defined　position　in　society；　without　friends　or　relations；　without　even　a　country　of　her　own；　did　not　look　forward　to　devoting　her　life　to　waiting　on　Prince　Nikolay　Andreivitch；　to　reading　him　books　and　being　a　friend　to　Princess　Marya。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　had　long　been　looking　forward　to　the　Russian　prince；　who　would　have　the　discrimination　to　discern　her　superiority　to　the　ugly；　badly　dressed；　ungainly　Russian　princesses—who　would　fall　in　love　with　her　and　bear　her　away。　And　now　this　Russian　prince　at　last　had　come。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　knew　a　story　she　had　heard　from　her　aunt；　and　had　finished　to　her　own　taste；　which　she　loved　to　go　over　in　her　own　imagination。　It　was　the　story　of　how　a　girl　had　been　seduced；　and　her　poor　mother　（sa　pauvre　mère）　had　appeared　to　her　and　reproached　her　for　yielding　to　a　man’s　allurements　without　marriage。　Mademoiselle　was　often　touched　to　tears；　as　in　imagination　she　told　“him；”　her　seducer；　this　tale。　Now　this　“he；”　a　real　Russian　prince；　had　appeared。　He　would　elope　with　her；　then　“my　poor　mother”　would　come　on　the　scene；　and　he　would　marry　her。　This　was　how　all　her　future　history　shaped　itself　in　Mademoiselle　Bourienne’s　brain　at　the　very　moment　when　she　was　talking　to　him　of　Paris。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　was　not　guided　by　calculations　（she　did　not　even　consider　for　one　instant　what　she　would　do）；　but　it　had　all　been　ready　within　her　long　before；　and　now　it　all　centred　about　Anatole　as　soon　as　he　appeared；　and　she　wished　and　tried　to　attract　him　as　much　as　possible。
The　little　princess；　like　an　old　warhorse　hearing　the　blast　of　the　trumpet；　was　prepared　to　gallop　off　into　a　flirtation　as　her　habit　was；　unconsciously　forgetting　her　position；　with　no　ulterior　motive；　no　struggle；　nothing　but　simple…hearted；　frivolous　gaiety　in　her　heart。
Although　in　feminine　society　Anatole　habitually　took　up　the　attitude　of　a　man　weary　of　the　attentions　of　women；　his　vanity　was　agreeably　flattered　by　the　spectacle　of　the　effect　he　produced　on　these　three　women。　Moreover；　he　was　beginning　to　feel　towards　the　pretty　and　provocative　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　that　violent；　animal　feeling；　which　was　apt　to　come　upon　him　with　extreme　rapidity；　and　to　impel　him　to　the　coarsest　and　most　reckless　actions。
After　tea　the　party　moved　into　the　divan…room；　and　Princess　Marya　was　asked　to　play　on　the　clavichord。　Anatole　leaned　on　his　elbow　facing　her；　and　near　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　and　his　eyes　were　fixed　on　Princess　Marya；　full　of　laughter　and　glee。　Princess　Marya　felt　his　eyes　upon　her　with　troubled　and　joyful　agitation。　Her　favourite　sonata　bore　her　away　to　a　world　of　soul…felt　poetry；　and　the　feeling　of　his　eyes　upon　her　added　still　more　poetry　to　that　world。　The　look　in　Anatole’s　eyes；　though　they　were　indeed　fixed　upon　her；　had　refere