《War And Peace》　Book8 　CHAPTER XIII
　　　　by Leo Tolstoy

COUNT ILYA ANDREITCH took his two girls to the Countess Bezuhov's. There were
a good many people assembled there. But Natasha hardly knew any of the persons
present. Count Ilya Andreitch observed with dissatisfaction that almost all the
company consisted of men or of ladies notorious for the freedom of their
behaviour. Mademoiselle George was standing in one corner of the room,
surrounded by young men. There were several Frenchmen present, and among them
Metivier, who had been a constant visitor at Countess Bezuhov's ever since her
arrival in Moscow. Count Ilya Andreitch made up his mind not to take a hand at
cards, not to leave his daughter's side, and to get away as soon as Mademoiselle
George's performance was over.

Anatole was at the door, unmistakably on the look-out for the Rostovs. At
once greeting the count, he went up to Natasha and followed her in. As soon as
Natasha saw him, the same feeling came upon her as at the theatre-the feeling of
gratified vanity at his admiration of her, and terror at the absence of any
moral barrier between them.

Ellen gave Natasha a delighted welcome, and was loud in her admiration of her
loveliness and her dress. Soon after their arrival, Mademoiselle George went out
of the room to change her dress. In the drawing-room chairs were being set in
rows and people began to sit down. Anatole moved a chair for Natasha, and would
have sat down by her, but the count, who was keeping his eye on Natasha, took
the seat beside her. Anatole sat down behind.

Mademoiselle George, with bare, fat, dimpled arms, and a red scarf flung over
one shoulder, came into the empty space left for her between the chairs and
threw herself into an unnatural pose. An enthusiastic whisper was audible.

Mademoiselle George scanned her audience with stern and gloomy eyes, and
began reciting French verses, describing her guilty love for her son. In places
she raised her voice, in places she dropped to a whisper solemnly lifting her
head; in places she broke off and hissed with rolling eyes.

"Exquisite, divine, marvellous!" was heard on all sides. Natasha gazed at the
fat actress; but she heard nothing, saw nothing and understood nothing of what
was passing before her. She felt nothing, but that she was borne away again
irrevocably into that strange and senseless world so remote from her old world,
a world in which there was no knowing what was good and what was bad, what was
sensible and what was senseless. Behind her was sitting Anatole; and conscious
of his nearness, she was in frightened expectation of something.

After the first monologue all the company rose and surrounded Mademoiselle
George, expressing their admiration.

"How handsome she is!" said Natasha to her father, as he got up with the rest
and moved through the crowd to the actress.

"I don't think so, looking at you," said Anatole, following Natasha. He said
this at a moment when no one but she could hear him. "You are charming...from the
moment I first saw you, I have not ceased..."

"Come along, come along, Natasha!" said the count, turning back for his
daughter. "How pretty she is!"

Natasha saying nothing went up to her father, and gazed at him with eyes of
inquiring wonder.

After several recitations in different styles, Mademoiselle George went away,
and Countess Bezuhov invited all the company to the great hall.

The count would have taken leave, but Ellen besought him not to spoil her
improvised ball. The Rostovs stayed on. Anatole asked Natasha for a waltz, and
during the waltz, squeezing her waist and her hand, he told her she was
bewitching and that he loved her. During the écossaise, which she danced again
with Kuragin, when they were left alone Anatole said nothing to her, he simply
looked at her. Natasha was in doubt whether she had not dreamed what he said to
her during the waltz. At the end of the first figure he pressed her hand again.
Natasha lifted her frightened eyes to his face, but there was an expression of
such assurance and warmth in his fond look and smile that she could not as she
looked at him say what she had to say to him. She dropped her eyes.

"Don't say such things to me. I am betrothed, and I love another man ..." she
articulated rapidly. She glanced at him. Anatole was neither disconcerted nor
mortified at what she had said.

"Don't talk to me of that. What is that to me," he said; "I tell you I am
mad, mad with love of you. Is it my fault that you are fascinating?...It's for us
to begin."

Natasha, eager and agitated, looked about her with wide-open, frightened
eyes, and seemed to be enjoying herself more than usual. She scarcely grasped
anything that happened that evening. They danced the écossaise and
"Grandfather." Her father suggested their going, and she begged to stay longer.
Wherever she was, and with whomsoever she was speaking, she felt his eyes upon
her. Then she remembered that she had asked her father's permission to go into a
dressing-room to rearrange her dress, that Ellen had followed her, had talked to
her, laughing, of her brother's passion, and that in the little divan-room she
had been met again by Anatole; that Ellen had somehow vanished, they were left
alone, and Anatole taking her by the hand, had said in a tender voice:

"I can't come to see you, but is it possible that I shall never see you? I
love you madly. Can I never ...?" and barring her way he brought his face close to
hers.

His large, shining, masculine eyes were so close to her eyes, that she could
see nothing but those eyes.

"Natalie?" his voice whispered interrogatively, and her hands were squeezed
till it hurt. "Natalie?"

"I don't understand; I have nothing to say," was the answer in her
eyes.

Burning lips were pressed to her lips, and at the same instant she felt
herself set free again, and caught the sound of Ellen's steps and rustling gown
in the room again. Natasha looked round towards Ellen; then, red and trembling,
she glanced at him with alarmed inquiry, and moved towards the door.

"One word, just one word, for God's sake," Anatole was saying. She stopped.
She so wanted him to say that word, that would have explained to her what had
happened and to which she could have found an answer.

"Natalie, one word ... one ..." he kept repeating, plainly not knowing what to
say, and he repeated it till Ellen reached them.

Ellen went back with Natasha to the drawing-room. The Rostovs went away
without staying to supper.

When she got home, Natasha did not sleep all night. She was tortured by the
insoluble question, Which did she love, Anatole or Prince Andrey? Prince Andrey,
she did love-she remembered clearly how great her love was for him. But she
loved Anatole too, of that there was no doubt. "Else could all that have
happened?" she thought. "If after that I could answer with a smile to his smile
at parting, if I could sink to that, it means that I fell in love with him from
the first minute. So he must be kind, noble, and good, and I could not help
loving him. What am I to do, if I love him and the other too?" she said to
herself, and was unable to find an answer to those terrible questions.