Anna Pávlovna's evening party was launched. The spindles hummed evenly and ceaselessly from all sides. Except for ma tante, beside whom sat only one elderly lady with a tear-stained, thin face, somewhat of a stranger in this brilliant society, the company had broken up into three circles. In one, the more masculine, the center was the Abbé; in the second, the young circle, the beautiful Princess Hélène, Prince Vasíli's daughter, and the pretty, rosy, rather too plump for her age, little Princess Bolkónskaya. In the third were Mortemart and Anna Pávlovna.

The vicomte was a pleasant-looking young man, with soft features and manners, who evidently considered himself a celebrity, but out of good breeding modestly allowed the society in which he found himself to make use of him. Anna Pávlovna was evidently treating her guests to him. As a good maître d'hôtel serves up as something supernaturally exquisite a piece of beef that one would not want to eat if one saw it in a dirty kitchen, so that evening Anna Pávlovna served up to her guests first the vicomte and then the Abbé as something supernaturally refined. In Mortemart's circle they immediately began talking about the murder of the Duc d'Enghien. The vicomte said that the Duc d'Enghien had perished through his own magnanimity, and that there were particular reasons for Bonaparte's animosity.

Ah! voyons. Contez-nous cela, vicomte, — said Anna Pávlovna, feeling with joy how this phrase smacked of something à la Louis XV, — contez-nous cela, vicomte.

The vicomte bowed in token of submission and smiled courteously. Anna Pávlovna made a circle around the vicomte and invited everyone to hear his tale.

Le vicomte a été personnellement connu de monseigneur, — Anna Pávlovna whispered to one. — Le vicomte est un parfait conteur, — she said to another. — Сomme on voit l'homme de la bonne compagnie, — she said to a third; and the vicomte was presented to the company in the most elegant and favorable light for him, like a roast beef on a hot dish, sprinkled with greens.

The vicomte was about to begin his story and smiled subtly.

— Come over here, chère Hélène, — Anna Pávlovna said to the beautiful princess, who was sitting some distance away, forming the center of another circle.

Princess Hélène smiled; she stood up with the same unchanging smile of a perfectly beautiful woman with which she had entered the drawing room. Rustling slightly in her white ball gown, trimmed with ivy and moss, and gleaming with the whiteness of her shoulders, the gloss of her hair, and her diamonds, she passed between the men who stepped aside for her, and went straight to Anna Pávlovna, looking at no one but smiling at everyone and as if graciously granting each the right to admire the beauty of her figure, her plump shoulders, her very exposed breast and back, according to the fashion of the time, and as if bringing with her the brilliance of a ball. Hélène was so beautiful that not only was there not a shadow of coquetry to be seen in her, but on the contrary, she seemed almost ashamed of her unquestionable and too strongly and victoriously acting beauty. She seemed to wish and yet be unable to diminish the effect of her beauty.

Quelle belle personne! said everyone who saw her. As if struck by something extraordinary, the vicomte shrugged his shoulders and lowered his eyes as she seated herself before him and illuminated him too with the same unchanging smile.

Madame, je crains pour mes moyens devant un pareil auditoire, — he said, bowing his head with a smile.

The princess rested her bare plump arm on the little table and did not find it necessary to say anything. She waited, smiling. Throughout the story she sat upright, glancing occasionally now at her plump, beautiful arm, which rested lightly on the table, now at her still more beautiful breast, on which she adjusted her diamond necklace; she adjusted the folds of her dress several times and, when the story made an impression, looked round at Anna Pávlovna and immediately assumed the very expression that was on the maid of honor's face, and then relapsed again into her radiant smile. Following Hélène, the little princess also moved over from the tea table.

Attendez moi, je vais prendre mon ouvrage, — she said. — Voyons, à quoi pensez-vous? — she addressed Prince Hippolyte: — apportez-moi mon ridicule.

The princess, smiling and talking to everyone, suddenly made a rearrangement, and settling down, cheerfully smoothed her dress.

— Now I am comfortable, — she kept saying, and, asking them to begin, took up her work.

Prince Hippolyte brought her the reticule, followed her, and, drawing a chair close to her, sat down beside her.

Le charmant Hippolyte was striking for his extraordinary resemblance to his beautiful sister and still more for the fact that, despite the resemblance, he was strikingly ugly. His features were the same as his sister's, but in her everything was illuminated by a joyous, self-satisfied, youthful, unchanging smile and the extraordinary, antique beauty of her body; in her brother, on the contrary, the same face was clouded by idiocy and invariably expressed a self-confident peevishness, and his body was thin and weak. His eyes, nose, mouth — everything seemed compressed into one indefinite and bored grimace, and his arms and legs always assumed an unnatural posture.

Ce n'est pas une histoire de revenants? — he said, sitting down beside the princess and hastily fixing his lorgnette to his eyes, as if without this instrument he could not begin to speak.

Mais non, mon cher, — said the surprised storyteller, shrugging his shoulders.

C'est que je déteste les histoires de revenants, — Prince Hippolyte said in a tone which showed that he had spoken the words before he understood what they meant.

Because of the self-confidence with which he spoke, no one could tell whether what he said was very clever or very stupid. He wore a dark green dress coat, breeches of the color of a cuisse de nymphe effrayée, as he himself called it, stockings, and shoes.

Vicomte told very nicely the anecdote then current, that the Duc d'Enghien had gone secretly to Paris to see m-llе George, and that there he met Bonaparte, who also enjoyed the favors of the famous actress, and that there, meeting the duke, Napoleon accidentally fell into that swoon to which he was subject, and was at the mercy of the duke, a mercy the duke did not use, but that Bonaparte subsequently avenged this very magnanimity with the duke's death.

The story was very nice and interesting, especially at the point where the rivals suddenly recognize each other, and the ladies seemed to be agitated.

Charmant, — said Anna Pávlovna, looking inquiringly at the little princess.

Charmant, — whispered the little princess, sticking her needle into her work, as if to signify that the interest and charm of the story prevented her from continuing her work.

The vicomte appreciated this silent praise and, smiling gratefully, prepared to continue; but at this time Anna Pávlovna, who had kept her eye on the young man who terrified her, noticed that he was talking rather too hotly and loudly with the Abbé, and hurried to the rescue of the dangerous spot. Indeed, Pierre had managed to engage the Abbé in a conversation about the political balance, and the Abbé, evidently interested by the young man's simple-hearted fervor, was developing his favorite idea before him. Both were listening and speaking rather too animatedly and naturally, and this was exactly what Anna Pávlovna did not like.

— The means are the European balance and the droit des gens, — the Abbé was saying. — It is only necessary for one powerful state like Russia, renowned for its barbarism, to place itself disinterestedly at the head of an alliance aiming at the balance of Europe — and it will save the world!

— But how will you find such a balance? — Pierre was beginning; but at that moment Anna Pávlovna came up and, glancing sternly at Pierre, asked the Italian how he was bearing the climate here. The Italian's face suddenly changed and assumed an offensively affected, sugary expression, which was evidently customary for him in conversation with women.

— I am so charmed by the graces of mind and education of the society, especially the feminine society, into which I have had the happiness to be received, that I have not yet had time to think of the climate, — he said.

Not letting the Abbé and Pierre go, Anna Pávlovna, for the convenience of observation, joined them to the general circle.

At this moment a new personage entered the drawing room. This new personage was the young Prince Andréi Bolkónsky, the husband of the little princess. Prince Bolkónsky was a very handsome young man of medium height, with clear and dry features. Everything in his figure, from his tired, bored look to his quiet measured step, presented the sharpest contrast to his little, lively wife. Evidently all the people in the drawing room were not only known to him, but had bored him so much that it was very tedious for him to look at them and listen to them. And of all the faces that bored him, the face of his pretty wife seemed to bore him most of all. With a grimace that spoiled his handsome face, he turned away from her. He kissed Anna Pávlovna's hand and, screwing up his eyes, scanned the whole company.

Vous vous enrôlez pour la guerre, mon prince? — said Anna Pávlovna.

Le général Koutouzoff, — said Bolkónsky, stressing the last syllable zoff like a Frenchman, — a bien voulu de moi pour aide-de-camp...

Et Lise, votre femme?

— She will go to the country.

— Aren't you ashamed to deprive us of your charming wife?

André, — said his wife, addressing her husband in the same coquettish tone she used with outsiders, — what a story the vicomte has just told us about Mademoiselle George and Bonaparte!

Prince Andréi screwed up his eyes and turned away. Pierre, who had not taken his joyful, friendly eyes off Prince Andréi since he entered the drawing room, went up to him and took his arm. Prince Andréi, without looking round, wrinkled his face into a grimace expressing annoyance with whoever was touching his arm, but, seeing Pierre's smiling face, he smiled an unexpectedly kind and pleasant smile.

— There now!.. And you too in grand society! — he said to Pierre.

— I knew you would be here, — answered Pierre. — I will come to supper with you, — he added quietly, so as not to disturb the vicomte, who was continuing his story. — May I?

— No, you may not, — said Prince Andréi, laughing and by a pressure of the hand letting Pierre know that there was no need to ask. He wanted to say something else, but at that moment Prince Vasíli rose with his daughter, and the men stood up to let them pass.

— You must excuse me, my dear vicomte, — said Prince Vasíli to the Frenchman, affectionately pulling him down by the sleeve to his chair so that he should not rise. — This unfortunate fête at the ambassador's deprives me of a pleasure and interrupts you. I am very sorry to leave your delightful evening, — he said to Anna Pávlovna.

His daughter, Princess Hélène, lightly holding the folds of her dress, passed between the chairs, and the smile shone still more brightly on her beautiful face. Pierre looked with almost frightened, rapturous eyes at this beauty as she passed him.

— Very lovely, — said Prince Andréi.

— Very, — said Pierre.

As he passed, Prince Vasíli seized Pierre by the arm and turned to Anna Pávlovna.

— Educate this bear for me, — he said. — He has been living with me for a month now, and this is the first time I have seen him in society. Nothing is so necessary to a young man as the society of clever women.