战争与和平(上)-第52章

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is；　the　prince　did　not　lift　the　stick　again；　and　still　shouting；　“Blackguards！　…　fill　up　the　road　…”　he　ran　to　his　room。
Princess　Marya　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　stood；　waiting　for　the　old　prince　before　dinner；　well　aware　that　he　was　out　of　temper。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne’s　beaming　countenance　seemed　to　say；　“I　know　nothing　about　it；　I　am　just　the　same　as　usual；”　while　Princess　Marya　stood　pale　and　terrified　with　downcast　eyes。　What　made　it　harder　for　Princess　Marya　was　that　she　knew　that　she　ought　to　act　like　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　at　such　times；　but　she　could　not　do　it。　She　felt；　“If　I　behave　as　if　I　did　not　notice　it；　he’ll　think　I　have　no　sympathy　with　him。　If　I　behave　as　if　I　were　depressed　and　out　of　humour　myself；　he’ll　say　（as　indeed　often　happened）　that　I’m　sulky　…”　and　so　on。
The　prince　glanced　at　his　daughter’s　scared　face　and　snorted。
“Stuff！”　or　perhaps　“stupid！”　he　muttered。　“And　the　other　is　not　here！　they’ve　been　telling　tales　to　her　already；”　he　thought；　noticing　that　the　little　princess　was　not　in　the　dining…room。
“Where’s　Princess　Liza？”　he　asked。　“In　hiding？”
“She’s　not　quite　well；”　said　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　with　a　bright　smile；　“she　is　not　coming　down。　In　her　condition　it　is　only　to　be　expected。”
“H’m！　h’m！　kh！　kh！”　growled　the　prince；　and　he　sat　down　to　the　table。　He　thought　his　plate　was　not　clean：　he　pointed　to　a　mark　on　it　and　threw　it　away。　Tihon　caught　it　and　handed　it　to　a　footman。　The　little　princess　was　quite　well；　but　she　was　in　such　overwhelming　terror　of　the　prince；　that　on　hearing　he　was　in　a　bad　temper；　she　had　decided　not　to　come　in。
“I　am　afraid　for　my　baby；”　she　said　to　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　“God　knows　what　might　not　be　the　result　of　a　fright。”
The　little　princess；　in　fact；　lived　at　Bleak　Hills　in　a　state　of　continual　terror　of　the　old　prince；　and　had　an　aversion　for　him；　of　which　she　was　herself　unconscious；　so　completely　did　terror　overbear　every　other　feeling。　There　was　the　same　aversion　on　the　prince’s　side；　too；　but　in　his　case　it　was　swallowed　up　in　contempt。　As　she　went　on　staying　at　Bleak　Hills；　the　little　princess　became　particularly　fond　of　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　she　spent　her　days　with　her；　begged　her　to　sleep　in　her　room；　and　often　talked　of　her　father…in…law；　and　criticised　him　to　her。
“We　have　company　coming；　prince；”　said　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　her　rosy　fingers　unfolding　her　dinner…napkin。　“His　excellency　Prince　Kuragin　with　his　son；　as　I　have　heard　say？”　she　said　in　a　tone　of　inquiry。
“H’m！　…　his　excellence　is　an　upstart。　I　got　him　his　place　in　the　college；”　the　old　prince　said　huffily。　“And　what　his　son’s　coming　for；　I　can’t　make　out。　Princess　Lizaveta　Karlovna　and　Princess　Marya　can　tell　us；　maybe；　I　don’t　know　what　he’s　bringing　his　son　here　for。　I　don’t　want　him。”　And　he　looked　at　his　daughter；　who　turned　crimson。
“Unwell；　eh？　Scared　of　the　minister；　as　that　blockhead　Alpatitch　called　him　to…day？”
“Non；　mon　père。”
Unsuccessful　as　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　had　been　in　the　subject　she　had　started；　she　did　not　desist；　but　went　on　prattling　away　about　the　conservatories；　the　beauty　of　a　flower　that　had　just　opened；　and　after　the　soup　the　prince　subsided。
After　dinner　he　went　to　see　his　daughter…in…law。　The　little　princess　was　sitting　at　a　little　table　gossiping　with　Masha；　her　maid。　She　turned　pale　on　seeing　her　father…in…law。
The　little　princess　was　greatly　changed。　She　looked　ugly　rather　than　pretty　now。　Her　cheeks　were　sunken；　her　lip　was　drawn　up；　and　her　eyes　were　hollow。
“Yes；　a　sort　of　heaviness；”　she　said　in　answer　to　the　prince’s　inquiry　how　she　felt。
“Isn’t　there　anything　you　need？”
“Non；　merci；　mon　père。”
“Oh；　very　well　then；　very　well。”
He　went　out　and　into　the　waiting…room。　Alpatitch　was　standing　there　with　downcast　head。
“Filled　up　the　road　again？”
“Yes；　your　excellency；　for　God’s　sake；　forgive　me；　it　was　simply　a　blunder。”
The　prince　cut　him　short　with　his　unnatural　laugh。
“Oh；　very　well；　very　well。”　He　held　out　his　hand；　which　Alpatitch　kissed；　and　then　he　went　to　his　study。
In　the　evening　Prince　Vassily　arrived。　He　was　met　on　the　way　by　the　coachmen　and　footmen　of　the　Bolkonskys；　who　with　shouts　dragged　his　carriages　and　sledge　to　the　lodge；　over　the　road；　which　had　been　purposely　obstructed　with　snow　again。
Prince　Vassily　and　Anatole　were　conducted　to　separate　apartments。
Taking　off　his　tunic；　Anatole　sat　with　his　elbows　on　the　table；　on　a　corner　of　which　he　fixed　his　handsome；　large　eyes　with　a　smiling；　unconcerned　stare。　All　his　life　he　had　looked　upon　as　an　uninterrupted　entertainment；　which　some　one　or　other　was；　he　felt；　somehow　bound　to　provide　for　him。　In　just　the　same　spirit　he　had　looked　at　his　visit　to　the　cross　old　gentleman　and　his　rich　and　hideous　daughter。　It　might　all；　according　to　his　anticipations；　turn　out　very　jolly　and　amusing。　“And　why　not　get　married；　if　she　has　such　a　lot　of　money？　That　never　comes　amiss；”　thought　Anatole。
He　shaved　and　scented　himself　with　the　care　and　elegance　that　had　become　habitual　with　him；　and　with　his　characteristic　expression　of　all…conquering　good…humour；　he　walked　into　his　father’s　room；　holding；　his　head　high。　Two　valets　were　busily　engaged　in　dressing　Prince　Vassily；　he　was　looking　about　him　eagerly；　and　nodded　gaily　to　his　son；　as　he　entered　with　an　air　that　said；　“Yes；　that’s　just　how　I　wanted　to　see　you　looking。”
“Come；　joking　apart；　father；　is　she　so　hideous？　Eh？”　he　asked　in　French；　as　though　reverting　to　a　subject　more　than　once　discussed　on　the　journey。
“Nonsense！　The　great　thing　for　you　is　to　try　and　be　respectful　and　sensible　with　the　old　prince。”
“If　he　gets　nasty；　I’m　off；”　said　Anatole。　“I　can’t　stand　those　old　gentlemen。　Eh？”
“Remember　that　for　you　everything　depends　on　it。”
Meanwhile；　in　the　feminine　part　of　the　household　not　only　the　arrival　of　the　minister　and　his　son　was　already　known；　but　the　appearance　of　both　had　been　minutely　described。　Princess　Marya　was　sitting　alone　in　her　room　doing　her　utmost　to　control　her　inner　emotion。
“Why　did　they　write；　why　did　Liza　tell　me　about　it？　Why；　it　cannot　be！”　she　thought；　looking　at　herself　in　the　glass。　“How　am　I　to　go　into　the　drawing…room？　Even　if　I　like　him；　I　could　never　be　myself　with　him　now。”　The　mere　thought　of　her　father’s　eyes　reduced　her　to　terror。　The　little　princess　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　had　already　obtained　all　necessary　information　from　the　maid；　Masha；　they　had　learned　what　a　handsome　fellow　the　minister’s　son　was；　with　rosy　cheeks　and　black　eye…brows；　how　his　papa　had　dragged　his　legs　upstairs　with　difficulty；　while　he；　like　a　young　eagle；　had　flown　up　after　him　three　steps　at　a　time。　On　receiving　these　items　of　information；　the　little　princess　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　whose　eager　voices　were　audible　in　the　corridor；　went　into　Princess　Marya’s　room。
“They　are　come；　Marie；　do　you　know？”　said　the　little　princess；　waddling　in　and　sinking　heavily　into　an　armchair。　She　was　not　wearing　the　gown　in　which　she　had　been　sitting　in　the　morning；　but　had　put　on　one　of　her　best　dresses。　Her　hair　had　been　carefully　arranged；　and　her　face　was　full　of　an　eager　excitement；　which　did　not；　however；　conceal　its　wasted　and　pallid　look。　In　the　smart　clothes　which　she　had　been　used　to　wear　in　Petersburg　in　society；　the　loss　of　her　good　looks　was　even　more　noticeable。　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　too；　had　put　some　hardly　perceptible　finishing　touches　to　her　costume；　which　made　her　fresh；　pretty　face　even　more　attractive。
“What；　and　you　are　staying　just　as　you　are；　dear　princess。　They　will　come　in　a　minute　to　tell　us　the　gentlemen　are　in　the　drawing…room；”　she　began。　“We　shall　have　to　go　down；　and　you　are　doing　nothing　at　all　to　your　dress。”
The　little　princess　got　up　from　her　chair；　rang　for　the　maid；　and　hurriedly　and　eagerly　began　to　arrange　what　Princess　Marya　was　to　wear；　and　to　put　her　ideas　into　practice。　Princess　Marya’s　sense　of　personal　dignity　was　wounded　by　her　own　agitation　at　the　arrival　of　her　suitor；　and　still　more　was　she　mortified　that　her　two　companions　should　not　even　conceive　that　she　ought　not　to　be　so　agitated。　To　have　told　them　how　ashamed　she　was　of　herself　and　of　them　would　have　been　to　betray　her　own　excitement。　Besides；　to　refuse　to　be　dressed　up；　as　they　suggested；　would　have　been　exposing　herself　to　reiterated　raillery　and　insistence。　She　flushed；　her　beautiful　eyes　grew　dim；　her　face　was　suffused　with　patches　of　crimson；　and　with　the　unbeautiful；　victimised　expression　which　was　the　one　most　often　seen　on　her　face；　she　abandoned　herself　to　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　and　Liza。　Both　women　exerted　themselves　with　perfect　sincerity　to　make　her　look　well。　She　was　so　plain　that　the　idea　of　rivalry　with　her　could　never　have　entered　their　heads。　Consequently　it　was　with　perfect　sincerity；　in　the　na？ve　and　unhesitating　conviction　women　have　that　dress　can　make　a　face　handsome；　that　they　set　to　work　to　attire　her。
“No；　really；　ma　bonne　amie；　that　dress　isn’t　pretty；”　said　Liza；　looking　sideways　at　Princess　Marya　from　a　distance；　“tell　her　to　put　on　you　your　maroon　velvet　there。　Yes；　really！　Why；　you　know；　it　may　be　the　turning…point　in　your　whole　life。　That　one’s　too　light；　it’s　not　right；　no；　it’s　not！”
It　was　not　the　dress　that　was　wrong；　but　the　face　and　the　whole　figure　of　the　princess；　but　that　was　not　felt　by　Mademoiselle　Bourienne　and　the　little　princess。　They　still　fancied　that　if　they　were　to　put　a　blue　ribbon　in　her　hair；　and　do　it　up　high；　and　to　put　the　blue　sash　lower　on　the　maroon　dress　and　so　on；　then　all　would　be　well。　They　forgot　that　the　frightened　face　and　figure　of　Princess　Marya　could　not　be　changed；　and　therefore；　however　presentable　they　might　make　the　setting　and　decoration　of　the　face；　the　face　itself　would　still　look　piteous　and　ugly。　After　two　or　three　changes；　to　which　Princess　Marya　submitted　passively；　when　her　hair　had　been　done　on　the　top　of　her　head　（which　completely　changed　and　utterly　disfigured　her）；　and　the　blue　sash　and　best　maroon　velvet　dress　had　been　put　on；　the　little　princess　walked　twice　round；　and　with　her　little　hand　stroked　out　a　fold　here　and　pulled　down　the　sash　there；　and　gazed　at　her　with　her　head　first　on　one　side　and　then　on　the　other。
“No；　it　won’t　do；”　she　said　resolutely；　throwing　up　her　hands。　“No；　Marie；　decidedly　that　does　not　suit　you。　I　like　you　better　in　your　little　grey　everyday　frock。　No；　please　do　that　for　me。　Katya；”　she　said　to　the　maid；　“bring　the　princess　her　grey　dress；　and　look；　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　how　I’ll　arrange　it；”　she　said；　smiling　with　a　foretaste　of　artistic　pleasure。　But　when　Katya　brought　the　dress；　Princess　Marya　was　still　sitting　motionless　before　the　looking…glass；　looking　at　her　own　face；　and　in　the　looking…glass　she　saw　that　there　were　tears　in　her　eyes　and　her　mouth　was　quivering；　on　the　point　of　breaking　into　sobs。
“Come；　dear　princess；”　said　Mademoiselle　Bourienne；　“one　more　little　effort。”
The　little　princess；　taking　the　dress　from　the　hands　of　the　maid；　went　up　to　Princess　Marya。
“Now；　we’ll　try　something　simple　and　charming；”　she　said。　Her　voice　and　Mademoiselle　Bourienne’s　and　the　giggle　of　Katya　blended　into　a　sort　of　gay　babble　like　the　twitter　of　birds。
“No；　leave　me　alone；”　s