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Volume I, Part Three, Chapter III

When Princess Marya came into the room, Prince Vasili with his son were already in the drawing room, talking to the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne. When she entered with her heavy step, treading on her heels, the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose, and the little princess, pointing to her to the gentlemen, said: "There is Marya!" [This was said in French in the original: Voilà Marie!] Princess Marya saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw Prince Vasili's face, which became momentarily serious at the sight of the princess and immediately smiled again, and the face of the little princess, who was curiously reading on the guests' faces the impression Marie would produce on them. She saw Mademoiselle Bourienne as well, with her ribbon and her pretty face and her animated, as never before, glance directed toward him; but she could not see him, she only saw something large, bright, and beautiful moving towards her as she entered the room. First Prince Vasili came up to her, and she kissed his bald head as he bent over her hand, and answered to his words that she, on the contrary, remembered him very well. Then Anatole came up to her. She still could not see him. She only felt a soft hand firmly taking hers, and lightly touched with her lips a white forehead, over which beautiful light brown hair was pomaded. When she looked at him, his beauty struck her. Anatole, having hooked the thumb of his right hand into the buttonhole of his uniform, with his chest bent forward, and his back backward, showing one foot set forward and slightly bending his head, silently and merrily looked at the princess, evidently not thinking about her at all. Anatole was not resourceful, nor quick, nor eloquent in conversations, but he had a precious capacity in society for composure and unalterable self-confidence. If a diffident man is silent at a first introduction and shows consciousness of the impropriety of his silence and a desire to find something to say, it turns out badly; but Anatole was silent, swayed his foot, and merrily observed the princess's hair. It was evident that he could go on being silent so composedly for a very long time. "If anyone finds this silence awkward, then you talk, but I don't feel like it," his look seemed to say. Besides, in his behavior with women, Anatole had a manner that above all inspires in women curiosity, fear, and even love — a manner of contemptuous consciousness of his own superiority. It was as though he said to them by his look: "I know you, I know, but why bother with you? Oh, you'd be only too glad!" Perhaps he did not think this when he met women (and it is even probable that he did not, because he generally thought very little), but such was his look and such was his manner. The princess felt this, and as though wishing to show him that she did not even dare to think of interesting him, she turned to the old prince. The conversation was general and animated, thanks to the voice and the little lip with its mustache lifting over the white teeth of the little princess. She met Prince Vasili with that playful tone which is often used by talkative and merry people, and which consists in assuming that between the person they are addressing and themselves there are some long-established jokes and merry, partly secret, amusing reminiscences, while in fact there are no such reminiscences, just as there were none between the little princess and Prince Vasili. Prince Vasili readily fell into this tone; the little princess drew Anatole, whom she hardly knew, into this recollection of amusing events that had never happened. Mademoiselle Bourienne also shared these common recollections, and even Princess Marya with pleasure felt herself drawn into this merry recollection.

— Here at least we shall take full advantage of you now, dear prince, — said the little princess, of course in French to Prince Vasili. — It won't be like it used to be at our evenings at Annette's, where you always ran away. Do you remember that dear Annette? [This was said in French in the original: Vous rappelez-vous cette chère Annette?]

— Oh, but you mustn't talk politics to me like Annette!

— And our tea table?

— Oh, yes!

— Why did you never come to Annette's? — asked the little princess of Anatole. — Ah! I know, I know, — she said with a wink, — your brother Ippolit told me about your goings on. Oh! — she wagged her finger at him. — I know of your pranks in Paris too!

— And didn't he, Ippolit, tell you? — said Prince Vasili (turning to his son and catching the princess by the hand as if she wanted to run away and he had only just managed to hold her), — didn't he tell you how he himself, Ippolit, pined for the dear princess and how she turned him out of doors? [This was said in French in the original: le mettait à la porte?]

— Oh! She is the pearl of women, princess! [This was said in French in the original: Oh! C'est la perle des femmes, princesse!] — he turned to the princess.

For her part Mademoiselle Bourienne did not miss the opportunity, at the word Paris, of also joining in the general conversational reminiscence.

She took the liberty of asking whether Anatole had left Paris long ago, and how he had liked that city. Anatole very readily answered the Frenchwoman, and smiling, looking at her, talked with her about her native land. Upon seeing the pretty Bourienne, Anatole concluded that here at Bald Hills it would not be boring either. "Very far from bad!" he thought, looking her over. "Very far from bad, this companion. [This was said in French in the original: demoiselle de compagnie.] I hope she will bring her with her when she marries me," he thought. "The little one is nice." [This was said in French in the original: la petite est gentille.]

The old prince unhurriedly dressed in his study, frowning and thinking over what he had to do. The arrival of these guests annoyed him. "What do I want with Prince Vasili and his boy? Prince Vasili is a braggart, an empty fellow, and the son must be a fine one too," he grumbled to himself. He was vexed because the arrival of these guests revived in his soul the unsettled, continually stifled question, a question about which the old prince continually deceived himself. The question was whether he would ever resolve to part with Princess Marya and give her to a husband. The prince had never directly dared to ask himself this question, knowing beforehand that he would answer it according to justice, and justice contradicted feeling more than feeling, but all the possibility of his life. A life without Princess Marya, though he seemed to value her little, was unthinkable for Prince Nikolai Andreevich. "And why should she marry?" he thought. "Probably to be unhappy. See Lise with Andrei (it would be hard to find a better husband now, it seems), and is she content with her lot? And who will marry her for love? She's plain and awkward. They'll take her for her connections and for her wealth. And are not unmarried women living? Are they not even happier?" So Prince Nikolai Andreevich thought while dressing, yet the continually postponed question now demanded an immediate solution. Prince Vasili had brought his son, evidently with the intention of making an offer, and probably today or tomorrow would demand a direct answer. His name and position in the world were excellent. "Well, I am not averse," the prince said to himself, "but let him be worthy of her. And that is what we shall see."

— That is what we shall see, — he said aloud. — That is what we shall see.

And, as usual, with brisk steps he entered the drawing room, quickly surveyed everyone, noticed the changed dress of the little princess, the ribbon of Mademoiselle Bourienne, and the ugly coiffure of Princess Marya, and the smiles of Mademoiselle Bourienne and Anatole, and the loneliness of his Princess Marya in the general conversation. "She has dressed up like a fool!" he thought, looking malignantly at his daughter. "She has no shame, and he doesn't even want to know her!"

He went up to Prince Vasili.

— Well, how are you, how are you? Glad to see you.

— For a dear friend seven versts is not a detour, — said Prince Vasili, speaking, as always, quickly, self-confidently, and familiarly. — Here is my second one; please love and favor him.

Prince Nikolai Andreevich looked Anatole over.

— Fine fellow, fine fellow! — he said. — Well, come along and kiss me, — and he offered him his cheek.

Anatole kissed the old man and looked at him amiably and completely composedly, waiting to see if there would be anything odd from him soon, as his father had promised.

Prince Nikolai Andreevich sat down in his usual place in the corner of the sofa, drew up an armchair for Prince Vasili, pointed to it, and began asking about political affairs and news. He listened to Prince Vasili's story as if with attention, but continually glanced at Princess Marya.

— So they are writing from Potsdam already? — he repeated the last words of Prince Vasili and suddenly, getting up, went up to his daughter.

— Was it for the guests you got yourself up like this, eh? — he said. — Fine, very fine. You've done your hair in a new way for the guests, but I am telling you before the guests that in the future you must not dare to change your dress without my permission.

— It's my fault, father, [This was said in French in the original: mon père,] — the little princess interceded, blushing.

— You can do as you please, — said Prince Nikolai Andreevich, bowing before his daughter-in-law, — but she has no need to deform herself, she is ugly enough without that.

And he sat down in his place again, paying no further attention to his daughter, who had been brought to tears.

— On the contrary, that coiffure is very becoming to the princess, — said Prince Vasili.

— Now, my good friend, young prince, what's his name? — said Prince Nikolai Andreevich, turning to Anatole. — Come here, let's talk and get acquainted.

"Now the fun begins," thought Anatole, and sat down smiling beside the old prince.

— Well, here's the thing: you, my dear fellow, they say, were educated abroad. Not the way your father and I were taught to read and write by the deacon. Tell me, my dear fellow, you are serving in the Horse Guards now? — the old man asked, looking closely and intently at Anatole.

— No, I have transferred to the army, — answered Anatole, hardly restraining himself from laughing.

— Ah! An excellent thing. Well, do you wish, my dear fellow, to serve your Tsar and country? It's wartime. Such a fine young fellow ought to serve, ought to serve. Well, at the front?

— No, prince. Our regiment has marched out. And I am attached. What am I attached to, papa? — Anatole turned to his father with a laugh.

— He serves excellently, excellently. What am I attached to! Ha, ha, ha! — laughed Prince Nikolai Andreevich.

And Anatole laughed still louder. Suddenly Prince Nikolai Andreevich frowned.

— Well, get out, — he said to Anatole.

Anatole with a smile went back to the ladies.

— After all, you had them educated abroad, Prince Vasili, didn't you? Eh? — the old prince turned to Prince Vasili.

— I did what I could; and I'll tell you that education there is much better than ours.

— Yes, everything is different now, everything is in a new way. A fine lad! A fine lad! Well, let us go to my room.

He took Prince Vasili by the arm and led him into the study.

Prince Vasili, left face to face with the prince, immediately announced to him his wish and hopes.

— What do you think, — the old prince said angrily, — that I am tying her down, cannot part with her? Just imagine! — he muttered angrily. — I'd be glad even tomorrow! Only let me tell you that I want to know my son-in-law better. You know my rules: everything open and above board! I'll ask her tomorrow in your presence: if she wishes it, then let him stay on. Let him stay on, I'll see. — The prince snorted. — Let her marry, it's all the same to me, — he cried in that shrill voice with which he had shouted when saying goodbye to his son.

— I will tell you frankly, — said Prince Vasili in the tone of a crafty man convinced of the uselessness of being crafty before the perspicacity of his interlocutor. — You, you know, see through people. Anatole is not a genius, but an honest, good fellow, an excellent son, and a kinsman.

— Well, well, all right, we shall see.

As always happens to solitary women who have long lived without male society, at the appearance of Anatole all three women in Prince Nikolai Andreevich's house equally felt that their life had not been life until that time. The power of thinking, feeling, and observing momentarily increased tenfold in all of them, and as if their life, hitherto passed in darkness, had suddenly been illuminated by a new light full of significance.

Princess Marya did not think at all and did not remember her face and her coiffure. The handsome, open face of the man who might perhaps be her husband absorbed all her attention. He seemed to her kind, brave, determined, manly, and magnanimous. She was convinced of this. Thousands of dreams of a future family life continually arose in her imagination. She drove them away and tried to conceal them.

"But am I not too cold towards him?" Princess Marya thought. "I try to restrain myself, because in the depths of my soul I feel myself already too near to him; but he does not know all I think of him, and may imagine that I do not like him."

And Princess Marya tried and did not know how to be amiable to the new guest.

"Poor girl! She's devilishly ugly," [This was said in French in the original: La pauvre fille! Elle est diablement laide,] Anatole thought of her.

Mademoiselle Bourienne, also raised by Anatole's arrival to a high pitch of excitement, thought in a different way. Of course, a beautiful young girl with no definite position in the world, without relatives and friends and even a country, had no intention of devoting her life to serving Prince Nikolai Andreevich, reading books to him and being a friend to Princess Marya. Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been waiting for that Russian prince who at once would be able to appreciate her superiority over the Russian, plain, badly dressed, awkward princesses, fall in love with her and carry her off; and here this Russian prince had at last arrived. Mademoiselle Bourienne had a story she had heard from her aunt and finished by herself, which she loved to repeat in her imagination. It was the story of a seduced girl to whom her poor mother, her poor mother, [This was said in French in the original: sa pauvre mère,] presented herself and reproached her for having yielded to a man without marriage. Mademoiselle Bourienne was often moved to tears in her imagination when she told him, her seducer, this story. And now he, a real Russian prince, had appeared. He would elope with her, then my poor mother [This was said in French in the original: ma pauvre mère] would appear, and he would marry her. Thus all her future history shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's head, at the very time when she was talking with him about Paris. It was not calculations that guided Mademoiselle Bourienne (she did not even for a minute consider what she should do), but all this had already long been ready within her and now only grouped itself around the Anatole who had appeared, and whom she wished and tried, as much as possible, to please.

The little princess, like an old regimental horse, hearing the sound of the trumpet, unconsciously and forgetting her condition, prepared for the accustomed gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or struggle, but with naive, lighthearted merriment.

Despite the fact that Anatole in women's society generally placed himself in the position of a man who was bored by the running after him by women, he felt vain pleasure seeing his influence on these three women. Besides, he was beginning to feel for the pretty and provocative Bourienne that passionate, animal feeling which came upon him with extreme rapidity and prompted him to the coarsest and boldest actions.

After tea the company moved to the divan-room, and the princess was asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole leaned on his elbows in front of her beside Mademoiselle Bourienne, and his eyes, laughing and rejoicing, looked at Princess Marya. Princess Marya with tormenting and joyful agitation felt his look upon her. Her favorite sonata bore her into a most intimately poetic world, and the look she felt upon her lent still more poetry to this world. But Anatole's look, although directed toward her, did not relate to her, but to the movements of Mademoiselle Bourienne's foot, which he at this time was touching with his own foot under the piano. Mademoiselle Bourienne was also looking at the princess, and in her beautiful eyes there was also a new expression of frightened joy and hope for Princess Marya.

"How he loves me!" thought Princess Marya. "How happy I am now and how happy I can be with such a friend and such a husband! Husband, can it be?" she thought, not daring to look at his face, yet feeling the same look fixed upon her.

In the evening, when they began to disperse after supper, Anatole kissed the princess's hand. She herself did not know how she mustered the courage, but she looked straight into the beautiful face that approached her near-sighted eyes. Following the princess he went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne's hand (this was unseemly, but he did everything so confidently and simply), and Mademoiselle Bourienne flushed and glanced frightenedly at the princess.

"What delicacy," [This was said in French in the original: Quelle délicatesse,] thought the princess. "Can Amélie (as Mademoiselle Bourienne was called) think that I could be jealous of her and not appreciate her pure tenderness and devotion to me?" She went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne and kissed her heartily. Anatole went up to the hand of the little princess.

— No, no, no! When your father writes me that you are behaving yourself, I will give you my hand to kiss. Not before. [This was said in French in the original: Non, non, non! Quand votre père m'écrira, que vous vous conduisez bien, je vous donnerai ma main à baiser. Pas avant.] —

And, holding up a finger and smiling, she went out of the room.