Pierre, as one of the most honored guests, had to sit down to boston with Ilya Andreich, the general, and the colonel. At the boston table Pierre happened to sit opposite Natasha, and the strange change that had taken place in her since the day of the ball struck him. Natasha was silent, and not only was she not so pretty as she had been at the ball, but she would have been plain had she not had such a meek and indifferent air toward everything.

“What is the matter with her?” thought Pierre, glancing at her. She sat beside her sister at the tea table and reluctantly, without looking at him, answered something to Boris, who had sat down beside her. Having played out a whole suit and, to his partner’s satisfaction, taken five tricks, Pierre, who had heard the murmur of greetings and the sound of someone’s steps entering the room during the gathering of the tricks, glanced at her again.

“What has happened to her?” he said to himself still more astonished.

Prince Andrei, with a tenderly solicitous expression, stood before her and was saying something to her. She, raising her head, flushed and evidently trying to restrain her impetuous breathing, looked at him. And the bright light of some inner fire, formerly extinguished, was again burning in her. She was wholly transformed. From plain she had again become such as she had been at the ball.

Prince Andrei went up to Pierre, and Pierre noticed a new, youthful expression in his friend’s face too.

Pierre changed his seat several times during the game, now with his back, now with his face to Natasha, and throughout the whole six rubbers he made observations upon her and his friend.

“Something very important is happening between them,” thought Pierre, and a feeling at once joyful and bitter made him agitated and forget the game.

After six rubbers the general got up, saying that it was impossible to play like that, and Pierre gained his freedom. Natasha in one part of the room was talking with Sonya and Boris, Vera with a subtle smile was talking about something with Prince Andrei. Pierre went up to his friend and, asking whether what was being said was a secret, sat down beside them. Vera, having noticed Prince Andrei’s attention to Natasha, found that at a party, at a real party, it was absolutely necessary that there be subtle allusions to feelings, and, seizing a moment when Prince Andrei was alone, began a conversation with him about feelings in general and about her sister. With so intelligent a guest (as she considered Prince Andrei) she needed to put her diplomatic art to work.

When Pierre came up to them, he noticed that Vera was in the self-satisfied ardor of conversation, while Prince Andrei (which rarely happened with him) seemed embarrassed.

— What do you think? — Vera was saying with a subtle smile. — You, Prince, are so perceptive and understand people’s characters at once. What do you think of Natalie: can she be constant in her attachments, can she, like other women (Vera meant herself), love a man once and remain forever faithful to him? That is what I consider true love. What do you think, Prince?

— I know your sister too little, — answered Prince Andrei with a mocking smile, beneath which he wished to hide his embarrassment, — to decide so delicate a question; and besides, I have observed that the less a woman pleases, the more constant she is, — he added, and looked at Pierre, who had come up to them at that moment.

— Yes, that is true, Prince; in our time, — Vera went on (mentioning our time, as limited people are generally fond of doing, supposing that they have discovered and appraised the peculiarities of our time and that the qualities of people change with the times), in our time a girl has so much freedom that le plaisir d'être courtisée often stifles the true feeling in her. Et Nathalie, il faut l'avouer, y est très sensible. This return to Natalie again made Prince Andrei wince unpleasantly; he wanted to rise, but Vera continued with an even more refined smile.

— I think no one was ever so courtisée, as she, — Vera was saying; — but never, until the very latest time, did anyone seriously please her. Now you know, count, — she turned to Pierre, — even our dear cousin Boris, who was, entre nous, very, very much dans le pays du tendre… she said, alluding to the map of love then in vogue.

Prince Andrei, frowning, was silent.

— You are friends with Boris, are you not? — Vera said to him.

— Yes, I know him…

— He surely told you about his childhood love for Natasha?

— And was there a childhood love? — asked Prince Andrei, suddenly and unexpectedly blushing.

— Yes. Vous savez entre cousin et cousine cette intimité mène quelquefois à l'amour: le cousinage est un dangereux voisinage. N'est ce pas?

— Oh, without doubt, — said Prince Andrei, and suddenly, with unnatural animation, he began to joke with Pierre about how careful he must be in his dealings with his fifty-year-old Moscow cousins, and in the middle of the jesting conversation he rose and, taking Pierre by the arm, drew him aside.

— Well, what is it? — said Pierre, who had watched his friend’s strange animation with surprise and had noticed the look that he cast at Natasha as he rose.

— I must, I must talk with you, — said Prince Andrei. — You know our women’s gloves (he was speaking of those Masonic gloves that were given to a newly elected brother to present to the woman he loved). — I… But no, I will talk with you later… — And with a strange gleam in his eyes and a restlessness in his movements, Prince Andrei went up to Natasha and sat down beside her. Pierre saw how Prince Andrei asked her something, and she, flushing, answered him.

But at that moment Berg came up to Pierre, insistently entreating him to take part in the argument between the general and the colonel about Spanish affairs.

Berg was contented and happy. The smile of joy did not leave his face. The evening was very good and exactly like the other evenings he had seen. Everything was similar. Both the ladies’ refined conversations, and the cards, and the general raising his voice over the cards, and the samovar, and the cakes; but one thing was still lacking, that which he had always seen at the evenings he wished to imitate. There was lacking a loud conversation among the men and an argument about something important and clever. The general had begun this conversation, and to it Berg drew Pierre.