战争与和平(上)-第82章

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“I　can　trust　you；　but　I’m　afraid　of　making　mistakes；　I　beg　you　to　lay　the　money　on　the　cards；”　answered　Dolohov。　“You　needn’t　worry；　we’ll　settle　our　accounts；”　he　added　to　Rostov。
The　play　went　on；　a　footman　never　ceased　carrying　round　champagne。
All　Rostov’s　cards　were　beaten；　and　the　sum　of　eight　hundred　roubles　was　scored　against　him。　He　wrote　on　a　card　eight　hundred　roubles；　but　while　champagne　was　being　poured　out　for　him；　he　changed　his　mind　and　again　wrote　down　the　usual　stake；　twenty　roubles。
“Leave　it；”　said　Dolohov；　thought　he　did　not　seem　to　be　looking　at　Rostov；　“you’ll　win　it　back　all　the　sooner。　I　lose　to　the　rest；　while　I　win　from　you。　Or　perhaps　you　are　afraid　of　me；”　he　repeated。
Rostov　excused　himself；　left　the　stake　of　eight　hundred　and　laid　down　the　seven　of　hearts；　a　card　with　a　corner　torn；　which　he　had　picked　up　from　the　ground。　Well　he　remembered　that　card　afterwards。　He　laid　down　the　seven　of　hearts；　wrote　on　it　with　a　broken　piece　of　chalk　800　in　bold　round　figures；　he　drank　the　glass　of　warmed　champagne　that　had　been　given　him；　smiled　at　Dolohov’s　words；　and　with　a　sinking　at　his　heart；　waiting　for　the　seven　of　hearts；　he　watched　Dolohov’s　hands　that　held　the　pack。　The　loss　or　gain　of　that　card　meant　a　great　deal　for　Rostov。　On　the　previous　Sunday　Count　Ilya　Andreitch　had　given　his　son　two　thousand　roubles；　and　though　he　never　liked　speaking　of　money　difficulties；　he　told　him　that　this　money　was　the　last　they　would　get　till　May；　and　so　he　begged　him　to　be　a　little　more　careful。　Nikolay　said　that　that　was　too　much　really　for　him；　and　that　he　would　give　him　his　word　of　honour　not　to　come　for　more　before　May。　Now　there　was　only　twelve　hundred　out　of　that　two　thousand　left。　So　that　on　the　seven　of　hearts　there　hung　not　merely　the　loss　of　sixteen　hundred　roubles；　but　the　consequent　inevitable　betrayal　of　his　word。　With　a　sinking　heart　he　watched　Dolohov’s　hands　and　thought：　“Well；　make　haste　and　deal　me　that　card　and　I’ll　take　my　cap　and　drive　home　to　supper　with　Denisov；　Natasha；　and　Sonya；　and　I’m　sure　I’ll　never　take　a　card　in　my　hand　again。”　At　that　moment　his　home　life；　his　jokes　with　Petya；　his　talks　with　Sonya；　his　duets　with　Natasha；　his　game　of　picquet　with　his　father；　even　his　comfortable　bed　in　the　house　in　Povarsky；　rose　before　his　imagination　with　such　vividness；　such　brightness；　and　such　charm；　that　it　seemed　as　though　it　were　all　some　long　past；　lost；　and　hitherto　unappreciated　happiness。　He　could　not　conceive　that　a　stupid　chance；　leading　the　seven　to　the　right　rather　than　to　the　left；　could　deprive　him　of　all　that　happiness　felt　now　with　new　comprehension　and　seen　in　a　new　radiance；　could　hurl　him　into　the　abyss　of　unknown　and　undefined　misery。　It　could　not　be；　but　yet　it　was　with　a　thrill　of　dread　that　he　waited　for　the　movement　of　Dolohov’s　hands。　Those　broad…boned；　reddish　hands；　with　hairs　visible　under　the　shirt…cuffs；　laid　down　the　pack　of　cards　and　took　up　the　glass　and　pipe　that　had　been　handed　him。
“So　you’re　not　afraid　to　play　with　me？”　repeated　Dolohov；　and　as　though　he　were　about　to　tell　a　good　story；　he　laid　down　the　cards；　leaned　back　in　his　chair；　and　began　deliberately　with　a　smile：
“Yes；　gentlemen；　I　have　been　told　there’s　a　story　going　about　Moscow　that　I’m　too　sharp　with　cards；　so　I　advise　you　to　be　a　little　on　your　guard　with　me。”
“Come；　deal　away！”　said　Rostov。
“Ugh；　these　Moscow　gossips！”　said　Dolohov；　and　he　took　up　the　cards　with　a　smile。
“Aaah！”　Rostov　almost　screamed；　putting　both　his　hands　up　to　his　hair。　The　seven　he　needed　was　lying　uppermost；　the　first　card　in　the　pack。　He　had　lost　more　than　he　could　pay。
“Don’t　swim　beyond　your　depth；　though；”　said　Dolohov；　with　a　passing　glance　at　Rostov；　and　he　went　on。


Chapter　14
WITHIN　AN　HOUR　AND　A　HALF　the　greater　number　of　the　players　were　no　longer　seriously　interested　in　their　own　play。
The　whole　interest　of　the　game　was　concentrated　on　Rostov。　Instead　of　a　mere　loss　of　sixteen　hundred　roubles　he　had　by　now　scored　against　him　a　long　column　of　figures；　which　he　had　added　up　to　the　tenth　thousand；　though　he　vaguely　supposed　that　by　now　it　had　risen　to　fifteen　thousand。　In　reality　the　score　already　exceeded　twenty　thousand　roubles。　Dolohov　was　not　now　listening　to　stories；　or　telling　them；　he　followed　every　movement　of　Rostov’s　hands；　and　from　time　to　time　took　a　cursory　survey　of　his　score　with　him。　He　had　resolved　to　keep　the　play　up　till　that　score　had　reached　forty…three　thousand。　He　had　fixed　on　that　number　because　it　represented　the　sum　of　his　and　Sonya’s　ages。　Rostov　sat　with　his　head　propped　in　both　hands；　before　the　wine…stained　table　scrawled　over　with　scorings　and　littered　with　cards。　One　torturing　sensation　never　left　him；　those　broad…boned；　reddish　hands；　with　the　hairs　visible　under　the　shirt…cuffs；　those　hands　which　he　loved　and　hated；　held　him　in　their　power。
“Six　hundred　roubles；　ace；　corner；　nine；　winning　it　back’s　out　of　the　question！…And　how　happy　I　should　be　at　home。…The　knave　double　or　quits；　it　can’t　be！…And　why　is　he　doing　this　to　me？…”　Rostov　pondered　and　thought。　Sometimes　he　put　a　higher　stake　on　a　card；　but　Dolohov　refused　it　and　fixed　the　stake　himself。　Nikolay　submitted　to　him；　and　at　one　moment　he　was　praying　to　God；　as　he　had　prayed　under　fire　on　the　bridge　of　Amschteten；　at　the　next　he　tried　his　fortune　on　the　chance　that　the　card　that　he　would　first　pick　up　among　the　heap　of　crumpled　ones　under　the　table　would　save　him；　then　he　reckoned　up　the　rows　of　braidings　on　his　coat；　and　tried　staking　the　whole　amount　of　his　losses　on　a　card　of　that　number；　then　he　looked　round　for　help　to　the　others　playing；　or　stared　into　Dolohov’s　face；　which　looked　quite　cold　now；　and　tried　to　penetrate　into　what　was　passing　within　him。
“He　knows；　of　course；　what　this　loss　means　to　me。　Surely　he　can’t　want　me　to　be　ruined？　Why；　he　was　my　friend。　I　loved　him。…　But；　indeed；　it’s　not　his　fault；　what’s　he　to　do；　if　he　has　all　the　luck？　And　it’s　not　my　fault；”　he　kept　saying　to　himself。　“I　have　done　nothing　wrong。　I　haven’t　murdered　or　hurt　any　one；　or　wished　any　one　harm；　have　I？　What　is　this　awful　calamity　for？　And　when　did　it　begin？　Such　a　little　while　ago　I　came　to　this　table　with　the　idea　of　winning　a　hundred　roubles；　and　buying　mamma　that　little　casket　for　her　name…day；　and　going　home。　I　was　so　happy；　so　free；　so　light…hearted。　And　I　didn’t　even　know　then　how　happy　I　was。　When　did　all　that　end；　and　when　did　this　new　awful　state　of　things　begin？　What　was　the　outward　token　of　that　change？　I　still　went　on　sitting　in　the　same　place　at　this　table；　and　in　the　same　way　picking　out　cards　and　putting　them　forward；　and　watching　those　deft；　broad…boned　hands。　When　did　it　come　to　pass；　and　what　has　come　to　pass？　I　am　strong　and　well；　and　still　the　same；　and　still　in　the　same　place。　No；　it　cannot　be。　It　will　all　be　sure　to　end　in　nothing。”
He　was　all　red　and　in　a　sweat　though　the　room　was　not　hot。　And　his　face　was　painful　and　piteous　to　see；　particularly　from　its　helpless　efforts　to　seem　calm。
The　score　reached　the　fateful　number　of　forty…three　thousand　roubles。　Rostov　already　had　the　card　ready　which　he　meant　to　stake　for　double　or　quits　on　the　three　thousand；　that　had　just　been　put　down　to　his　score；　when　Dolohov　slapped　the　pack　of　cards　down　on　the　table；　pushed　it　away；　and　taking　the　chalk　began　rapidly　in　his　clear；　strong　hand；　writing　down　the　total　of　Rostov’s　losses；　breaking　the　chalk　as　he　did　so。
“Supper；　supper…time。　And　here　are　the　gypsies。”　And　some　swarthy　men　and　women　did　in　fact　come　in　from　the　cold　outside；　saying　something　with　their　gypsy　accent。　Nikolay　grasped　that　it　was　all　over；　but　he　said　in　an　indifferent　voice：
“What；　won’t　you　go　on？　And　I　have　such　a　nice　little　card　all　ready。”　As　though　what　chiefly　interested　him　was　the　game　itself。
“It’s　all　over；　I’m　done　for；”　he　thought。　“Now　a　bullet　through　the　head’s　the　only　thing　left　for　me；”　and　at　the　same　time　he　was　saying　in　a　cheerful　voice：
“Come；　just　one　more　card。”
“Very　good；”　answered　Dolohov；　finishing　his　addition。　“Very　good。　Twenty…one　roubles…done；”　he　said；　pointing　to　the　figure　21；　over　and　above　the　round　sum　of　forty…three　thousand；　and　taking　a　pack；　he　made　ready　to　deal；　Rostov　submissively　turned　down　the　corner；　and　instead　of　the　8000　he　had　meant　to　write；　noted　down　21。
“It’s　all　the　same　to　me；”　he　said；　“only　it’s　interesting　to　me　to　know　whether　you　will　win　on　that　ten　or　let　me　have　it。”
Dolohov　began　seriously　dealing。　Oh；　how　Rostov　hated　at　that　moment　those　reddish　hands；　with　their　short　fingers　and　the　hairs　visible　under　the　shirt　sleeves；　those　hands　that　held　him　in　their　clutches。…The　ten　was　not　beaten。　“Forty…three　thousand　to　your　score；　count；”　said　Dolohov；　and　he　got　up　from　the　table　stretching。　“One　does　get　tired　sitting　so　long；”　he　said。
“Yes；　I’m　tired　too；”　said　Rostov。
Dolohov　cut　him　short；　as　though　to　warn　him　it　was　not　for　him　to　take　a　light　tone。
“When　am　I　to　receive　the　money；　count？”
Rostov　flushing　hotly　drew　Dolohov　away　into　the　other　room。
“I　can’t　pay　it　all　at　once；　you　must　take　an　I。O。U。；”　said　he
“Listen；　Rostov；”　said　Dolohov；　smiling　brightly；　and　looking　straight　into　Nikolay’s　eyes；　“you　know　the　saying：　‘Lucky　in　love；　unlucky　at　cards。’　Your　cousin　is　in　love　with　you。　I　know　it。”
“Oh！　this　is　awful　to　feel　oneself　in　this　man’s　power　like　this；”　thought　Rostov。　He　knew　the　shock　the　news　of　this　loss　would　be　to　his　father　and　mother；　he　knew　what　happiness　it　would　be　to　be　free　of　it　all；　and　felt　that　Dolohov　knew　that　he　could　set　him　free　from　this　shame　and　grief；　and　wanted　now　to　play　cat　and　mouse　with　him。
“Your　cousin…”　Dolohov　would　have　said；　but　Nikolay　cut　him　short。
“My　cousin　has　nothing　to　do　with　the　matter；　and　there　is　no　need　to　mention　her！”　he　cried；　with　fury。
“Then；　when　am　I　to　receive　it？”　asked　Dolohov。
“To…morrow；”　said　Rostov；　and　went　out　of　the　room。


Chapter　15
TO　SAY　“TO…MORROW；”　and　maintain　the　right　tone　was　not　difficult；　but　to　arrive　home　alone；　to　see　his　sisters　and　brother；　his　mother　and　father；　to　confess　and　beg　for　money　to　which　he　had　no　right　after　giving　his　word　of　honour；　was　terrible。
At　home　they　had　not　yet　gone　to　bed。　The　younger　members　of　the　family　after　coming　home　from　the　theatre　had　had　supper；　and　were　now　in　a　group　about　the　clavichord。　As　soon　as　Nikolay　entered　the　hall；　he　felt　himself　enfolded　in　the　poetic　atmosphere　of　love　which　dominated　their　household　that　winter；　and　now；　since　Dolohov’s　proposal　and　Iogel’s　ball；　seemed　to　have　grown　thicker　about　Sonya　and　Natasha；　like　the　air　before　a　storm。　Sonya　and　Natasha；　wearing　the　light　blue　dresses　they　had　put　on　for　the　theatre；　stood　at　the　clavichord；　pretty　and　conscious　of　being　so；　happy　and　smiling。　Vera　was　playing　draughts　with　Shinshin　in　the　drawing…room。　The　old　countess；　waiting　for　her　son　and　her　husband　to　come　in；　was　playing　patience　with　an　old　gentlewoman；　who　was　one　of　their　household。　Denisov；　with　shining　eyes　and　ruffled　hair；　was　sitting　with　one　leg　behind　him　at　the　clavichord。　He　was　striking　chords　with　his　short　fingers；　and　rolling　his　eyes；　as　he　sa