After Prince Andrei, Boris came up to Natasha, inviting her to dance; up came that dancer-adjutant too, who had opened the ball, and other young men besides, and Natasha, handing over her superfluous partners to Sonya, happy and flushed, did not cease dancing the whole evening. She noticed and saw nothing of what occupied everyone at that ball. She not only failed to notice how the sovereign talked long with the French envoy, how he spoke with particular graciousness to such-and-such a lady, how such-and-such a prince did and said this and that, how Hélène had a great success and was honored with the special attention of so-and-so; she did not even see the sovereign and noticed that he had left only because after his departure the ball grew more animated. In one of the merry cotillions, before supper, Prince Andrei again danced with Natasha. He reminded her of their first meeting in the avenue at Otradnoe and of how she had been unable to sleep on that moonlit night and how he had involuntarily overheard her. Natasha blushed at this reminder and tried to justify herself, as though there had been something shameful in the feeling in which Prince Andrei had involuntarily overheard her.

Prince Andrei, like all men who have grown up in society, loved to meet in society that which did not bear the common stamp of society. And such was Natasha, with her wonder, her joy, her shyness, and even her mistakes in French. With her he was especially tender and careful in his manner and speech. Sitting beside her, talking with her of the simplest and most trivial matters, Prince Andrei admired the joyous gleam of her eyes and her smile, which had to do not with the words spoken but with her inner happiness. When Natasha was chosen and rose with a smile and danced across the hall, Prince Andrei admired above all her timid grace. In the middle of the cotillion Natasha, having finished a figure and still breathing hard, was coming back to her place. A new partner again invited her. She was tired and out of breath, and evidently thought of refusing, but at once gaily raised her hand again to her partner’s shoulder and smiled at Prince Andrei.

“I would gladly rest and sit with you, I am tired; but you see how they choose me, and I am glad of it, and I am happy, and I love everyone, and you and I understand all this,” and much, much more did that smile say. When her partner left her, Natasha ran across the hall to fetch two ladies for the figures.

“If she goes up first to her cousin and then to another lady, she will be my wife,” Prince Andrei said to himself, quite unexpectedly, as he looked at her. She went up first to her cousin.

“What nonsense sometimes comes into one’s head!” thought Prince Andrei; “but it is certain only that this girl is so sweet, so peculiar, that she will not dance here a month before she marries… That is a rarity here,” he thought, as Natasha, straightening a rose that had slipped down at her bodice, seated herself beside him.

Toward the end of the cotillion the old count, in his blue tailcoat, came up to the dancers. He invited Prince Andrei to visit them and asked his daughter whether she was enjoying herself. Natasha did not answer and only smiled with a smile that said reproachfully: “How could you ask about that?”

— So merry as never in my life! — she said, and Prince Andrei noticed how quickly her thin arms rose to embrace her father and at once dropped again. Natasha was as happy as she had never yet been in her life. She was on that highest step of happiness on which a person becomes wholly good and kind and does not believe in the possibility of evil, misfortune, and grief. —————

Pierre, at that ball, for the first time felt himself insulted by the position his wife occupied in the higher spheres. He was morose and absent-minded. Across his forehead was a broad crease, and, standing at a window, he looked through his spectacles, seeing no one.

Natasha, making her way to supper, passed by him.

Pierre’s gloomy, unhappy face struck her. She stopped opposite him. She wanted to help him, to give him the surplus of her own happiness.

— How merry it is, count, — she said, — is it not?

Pierre smiled absently, evidently not understanding what was said to him.

— Yes, I am very glad, — he said.

“How can they be dissatisfied with anything,” thought Natasha. “Especially one so good as this Bezukhov?” To Natasha’s eyes everyone at the ball were equally kind, dear, splendid people, loving one another: no one could offend another, and therefore all ought to be happy.