战争与和平(上)-第145章

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Dolohov　stayed　at　the　gate。　Anatole　followed　the　maid　into　the　courtyard；　turned　a　corner；　and　ran　up　the　steps。
He　was　met　by　Gavrilo；　Marya　Dmitryevna’s　huge　groom。
“Walk　this　way　to　the　mistress；”　said　the　groom　in　his　bass；　blocking　up　the　doorway。
“What　mistress？　And　who　are　you？”　Anatole　asked　in　a　breathless　whisper。
“Walk　in；　my　orders　are　to　show　you　in。”
“Kuragin！　back！”　shouted　Dolohov。　“Treachery；　back！”
Dolohov；　at　the　little　back　gate　where　he　had　stopped；　was　struggling　with　the　porter；　who　was　trying　to　shut　the　gate　after　Anatole　as　he　ran　in。　With　a　desperate　effort　Dolohov　shoved　away　the　porter；　and　clutching　at　Anatole；　pulled　him　through　the　gate；　and　ran　back　with　him　to　the　sledge。


Chapter　18
MARYA　DMITRYEVNA　coming　upon　Sonya　weeping　in　the　corridor　had　forced　her　to　confess　everything。　Snatching　up　Natasha’s　letter　and　reading　it；　Marya　Dmitryevna　went　in　to　Natasha；　with　the　letter　in　her　hand。
“Vile　girl；　shameless　hussy！”　she　said　to　her。　“I　won’t　hear　a　word！”　Pushing　aside　Natasha；　who　gazed　at　her　with　amazed　but　tearless　eyes；　she　locked　her　into　the　room；　and　giving　orders　to　her　gate　porter　to　admit　the　persons　who　would　be　coming　that　evening；　but　not　to　allow　them　to　pass　out　again；　and　giving　her　grooms　orders　to　show　those　persons　up　to　her；　she　seated　herself　in　the　drawing…room　awaiting　the　abductors。
When　Gavrilo　came　to　announce　to　Marya　Dmitryevna　that　the　persons　who　had　come　had　run　away；　she　got　up　frowning；　and　clasping　her　hands　behind　her；　walked　a　long　while　up　and　down　through　her　rooms；　pondering　what　she　was　to　do。　At　midnight　she　walked　towards　Natasha’s　room；　feeling　the　key　in　her　pocket。　Sonya　was　sitting　sobbing　in　the　corridor；　“Marya　Dmitryevna；　do；　for　God’s　sake；　let　me　go　in　to　her！”　she　said。
Marya　Dmitryevna；　making　her　no　reply；　opened　the　door　and　went　in。　“Hateful；　disgusting；　in　my　house；　the　nasty　hussy；　only　I’m　sorry　for　her　father！”　Marya　Dmitryevna　was　thinking；　trying　to　allay　her　wrath。　“Hard　as　it　may　be；　I　will　forbid　any　one　to　speak　of　it；　and　will　conceal　it　from　the　count。”　Marya　Dmitryevna　walked　with　resolute　steps　into　the　room。
Natasha　was　lying　on　the　sofa；　she　had　her　head　hidden　in　her　hands　and　did　not　stir。　She　was　lying　in　exactly　the　same　position　in　which　Marya　Dmitryevna　had　left　her。
“You’re　a　nice　girl；　a　very　nice　girl！”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna。　“Encouraging　meetings　with　lovers　in　my　house！　There’s　no　use　in　humbugging。　You　listen　when　I　speak　to　you。”　Marya　Dmitryevna　touched　her　on　the　arm。　“You　listen　when　I　speak。　You’ve　disgraced　yourself　like　the　lowest　wench。　I　don’t　know　what　I　couldn’t　do　to　you；　but　I　feel　for　your　father。　I　will　hide　it　from　him。”
Natasha　did　not　change　her　position；　only　her　whole　body　began　to　writhe　with　noiseless；　convulsive　sobs；　which　choked　her。　Marya　Dmitryevna　looked　round　at　Sonya；　and　sat　down　on　the　edge　of　the　sofa　beside　Natasha。
“It’s　lucky　for　him　that　he　escaped　me；　but　I’ll　get　hold　of　him；”　she　said　in　her　coarse　voice。　“Do　you　hear　what　I　say；　eh？”　She　put　her　big　hand　under　Natasha’s　face；　and　turned　it　towards　her。　Both　Marya　Dmitryevna　and　Sonya　were　surprised　when　they　saw　Natasha’s　face。　Her　eyes　were　glittering　and　dry；　her　lips　tightly　compressed；　her　cheeks　looked　sunken。
“Let　me　be　…　what　do　I　…　I　shall　die。…”　she　articulated；　with　angry　effort；　tore　herself　away　from　Marya　Dmitryevna；　and　fell　back　into　the　same　attitude　again。
“Natalya！　…”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna。　“I　wish　for　your　good。　Lie　still；　come；　lie　still　like　that　then；　I　won’t　touch　you；　and　listen。…　I’m　not　going　to　tell　you　how　wrongly　you　have　acted。　You　know　that　yourself。　But　now　your　father’s　coming　back　to…morrow。　What　am　I　to　tell　him？　Eh？”
Again　Natasha’s　body　heaved　with　sobs。
“Well；　he　will　hear　of　it；　your　brother；　your　betrothed！”
“I　have　no　betrothed；　I　have　refused　him；”　cried　Natasha。
“That　makes　no　difference；”　pursued　Marya　Dmitryevna。　“Well；　they　hear　of　it。　Do　you　suppose　they　will　let　the　matter　rest？　Suppose　he—　your　father；　I　know　him—if　he　challenges　him　to　a　duel；　will　that　be　all　right？　Eh？”
“Oh；　let　me　be；　why　did　you　hinder　everything！　Why？　why？　who　asked　you　to？”　cried　Natasha；　getting　up　from　the　sofa；　and　looking　vindictively　at　Marya　Dmitryevna。
“But　what　was　it　you　wanted？”　screamed　Marya　Dmitryevna；　getting　hot　again。　“Why；　you　weren’t　shut　up；　were　you？　Who　hindered　his　coming　to　the　house？　Why　carry　you　off；　like　some　gypsy　wench？　…　If　he　had　carried　you　off；　do　you　suppose　they　wouldn’t　have　caught　him？　Your　father；　or　brother；　or　betrothed？　He’s　a　wretch；　a　scoundrel；　that’s　what　he　is！”
“He’s　better　than　any　of　you；”　cried　Natasha；　getting　up。　“If　you　hadn’t　meddled　…　O　my　God；　what　does　it　mean？　Sonya；　why　did　you？　Go　away！　…”　And　she　sobbed　with　a　despair　with　which　people　only　bewail　a　trouble　they　feel　they　have　brought　on　themselves。
Marya　Dmitryevna　was　beginning　to　speak　again；　but　Natasha　cried；　“Go　away；　go　away；　you　all　hate　me　and　despise　me！”　And　she　flung　herself　again　on　the　sofa。
Marya　Dmitryevna　went　on　for　some　time　longer　lecturing　Natasha；　and　urging　on　her　that　it　must　all　be　kept　from　the　count；　that　no　one　would　know　anything　of　it　if　Natasha　would　only　undertake　to　forget　it　all；　and　not　to　show　a　sign　to　any　one　of　anything　having　happened。　Natasha　made　no　answer。　She　did　not　sob　any　more；　but　she　was　taken　with　shivering　fits　and　trembling。　Marya　Dmitryevna　put　a　pillow　under　her　head；　laid　two　quilts　over　her；　and　brought　her　some　lime…flower　water　with　her　own　hands；　but　Natasha　made　no　response　when　she　spoke　to　her。
“Well；　let　her　sleep；”　said　Marya　Dmitryevna；　as　she　went　out　of　the　room；　supposing　her　to　be　asleep。　But　Natasha　was　not　asleep；　her　wide…open　eyes　gazed　straight　before　her　out　of　her　pale　face。　All　that　night　Natasha　did　not　sleep；　and　did　not　weep；　and　said　not　a　word　to　Sonya；　who　got　up　several　times　and　went　in　to　her。
Next　day；　at　lunch　time；　as　he　had　promised；　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　arrived　from　his　estate　in　the　environs。　He　was　in　very　good　spirits：　he　had　come　to　terms　with　the　purchaser；　and　there　was　nothing　now　to　detain　him　in　Moscow　away　from　his　countess；　for　whom　he　was　pining。　Marya　Dmitryevna　met　him；　and　told　him　that　Natasha　had　been　very　unwell　on　the　previous　day；　that　they　had　sent　for　a　doctor；　and　that　now　she　was　better。　Natasha　did　not　leave　her　room　that　morning。　With　tightly　shut；　parched　lips；　and　dry；　staring　eyes；　she　sat　at　the　window　uneasily　watching　the　passers…by　along　the　street；　and　hurriedly　looking　round　at　any　one　who　entered　her　room。　She　was　obviously　expecting　news　of　him；　expecting　that　he　would　come　himself　or　would　write　to　her。
When　the　count　went　in　to　her；　she　turned　uneasily　at　the　sound　of　his　manly　tread；　and　her　face　resumed　its　previous　cold　and　even　vindictive　expression。　She　did　not　even　get　up　to　meet　him。
“What　is　it；　my　angel；　are　you　ill？”　asked　the　count。
Natasha　was　silent　a　moment。
“Yes；　I　am　ill；”　she　answered。
In　answer　to　the　count’s　inquiries　why　she　was　depressed　and　whether　anything　had　happened　with　her　betrothed；　she　assured　him　that　nothing　had；　and　begged　him　not　to　be　uneasy。　Marya　Dmitryevna　confirmed　Natasha’s　assurances　that　nothing　had　happened。　From　the　pretence　of　illness；　from　his　daughter’s　agitated　state；　and　the　troubled　faces　of　Sonya　and　Marya　Dmitryevna；　the　count　saw　clearly　that　something　had　happened　in　his　absence。　But　it　was　so　terrible　to　him　to　believe　that　anything　disgraceful　had　happened　to　his　beloved　daughter；　and　he　so　prized　his　own　cheerful　serenity；　that　he　avoided　inquiries　and　tried　to　assure　himself　that　it　was　nothing　very　out　of　the　way；　and　only　grieved　that　her　indisposition　would　delay　their　return　to　the　country。


Chapter　19
FROM　THE　DAY　of　his　wife’s　arrival　in　Moscow；　Pierre　had　been　intending　to　go　away　somewhere　else；　simply　not　to　be　with　her。　Soon　after　the　Rostovs’　arrival　in　Moscow；　the　impression　made　upon　him　by　Natasha　had　impelled　him　to　hasten　in　carrying　out　his　intention。　He　went　to　Tver　to　see　the　widow　of　Osip　Alexyevitch；　who　had　long　before　promised　to　give　him　papers　of　the　deceased’s。
When　Pierre　came　back　to　Moscow；　he　was　handed　a　letter　from　Marya　Dmitryevna；　who　summoned　him　to　her　on　a　matter　of　great　importance；　concerning　Andrey　Bolkonsky　and　his　betrothed。　Pierre　had　been　avoiding　Natasha。　It　seemed　to　him　that　he　had　for　her　a　feeling　stronger　than　a　married　man　should　have　for　a　girl　betrothed　to　his　friend。　And　some　fate　was　continually　throwing　him　into　her　company。
“What　has　happened？　And　what　do　they　want　with　me？”　he　thought　as　he　dressed　to　go　to　Marya　Dmitryevna’s。　“If　only　Prince　Andrey　would　make　haste　home　and　marry　her；”　thought　Pierre　on　the　way　to　the　house。
In　the　Tverskoy　Boulevard　some　one　shouted　his　name。
“Pierre！　Been　back　long？”　a　familiar　voice　called　to　him。　Pierre　raised　his　head。　Anatole；　with　his　everlasting　companion　Makarin；　dashed　by　in　a　sledge　with　a　pair　of　grey　trotting…horses；　who　were　kicking　up　the　snow　on　to　the　forepart　of　the　sledge。　Anatole　was　sitting　in　the　classic　pose　of　military　dandies；　the　lower　part　of　his　face　muffled　in　his　beaver　collar；　and　his　head　bent　a　little　forward。　His　face　was　fresh　and　rosy；　his　hat；　with　its　white　plume；　was　stuck　on　one　side；　showing　his　curled；　pomaded　hair；　sprinkled　with　fine　snow。
“Indeed；　he　is　the　real　philosopher！”　thought　Pierre。　“He　sees　nothing　beyond　the　present　moment　of　pleasure；　nothing　worries　him；　and　so　he　is　always　cheerful；　satisfied；　and　serene。　What　would　I　not　give　to　be　just　like　him！”　Pierre　mused　with　envy。
In　Marya　Dmitryevna’s　entrance…hall　the　footman；　as　he　took　off　Pierre’s　fur　coat；　told　him　that　his　mistress　begged　him　to　come　to　her　in　her　bedroom。
As　he　opened　the　door　into　the　reception…room；　Pierre　caught　sight　of　Natasha；　sitting　at　the　window　with　a　thin；　pale；　and　ill…tempered　face。　She　looked　round　at　him；　frowned；　and　with　an　expression　of　frigid　dignity　walked　out　of　the　room。
“What　has　happened？”　asked　Pierre；　going　in　to　Marya　Dmitryevna。
“Fine　doings；”　answered　Marya　Dmitryevna。　“Fifty…eight　years　I　have　lived　in　the　world—never　have　I　seen　anything　so　disgraceful。”　And　exacting　from　Pierre　his　word　of　honour　not　to　say　a　word　about　all　he　was　to　hear；　Marya　Dmitryevna　informed　him　that　Natasha　had　broken　off　her　engagement　without　the　knowledge　of　her　parents；　that　the　cause　of　her　doing　so　was　Anatole　Kuragin；　with　whom　Pierre’s　wife　had　thrown　her；　and　with　whom　Natasha　had　attempted　to　elope　in　her　father’s　absence　in　order　to　be　secretly　married　to　him。
Pierre；　with　hunched　shoulders　and　open　mouth；　listened　to　what　Marya　Dmitryevna　was　saying；　hardly　able　to　believe　his　ears。　That　Prince　Andrey’s　fiancée；　so　passionately　loved　by　him；　Natasha　Rostov；　hitherto　so　charming；　should　give　up　Bolkonsky　for　that　fool　Anatole；　who　was　married　already　（Pierre　knew　the　secret　of　his　marriage）；　and　be　so　much　in　love　with　him　as　to　consent　to　elope　with　him—that　Pierre　could　not　conceive　and　could　not　comprehend。　He　could　not　reconcile　the　sweet　impression　he　had　in　his　soul　of　Natasha；　whom　he　had　known　from　childhoo