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‘‘I have quite lost the art of talking to ladies；’’ he said； ‘‘it was horribly tiresome。 Especially as I was so busy。’’
Natasha looked intently at him； and went on。 ‘‘Marie； now she is wonderful！’’ she said。 ‘‘The insight she has into children。 She seems to see straight into their souls。 Yesterday； for instance； Mitenka was naughty…’’
‘‘And isn’t he like his father？’’ Pierre put in。
Natasha knew why he made this remark about Mitenka’s likeness to Nikolay。 He disliked the thought of his dispute with his brother…in…law； and was longing to hear what she thought about it。
‘‘It’s a weakness of Nikolay’s； that if anything is not generally accepted； he will never agree with it。 And I see that that’s just what you value to ouvrir une carrière；’’ she said； repeating a phrase Pierre had once uttered。
‘‘No； the real thing is that to Nikolay；’’ said Pierre； ‘‘thoughts and ideas are an amusement； almost a pastime。 Here he’s forming a library and has made it a rule not to buy a new book till he has read through the last he has bought—Sismondi and Rousseau and Montesquieu；’’ Pierre added with a smile。 ‘‘You know how I—；’’ he was beginning to soften his criticism； but Natasha interrupted； giving him thereby to understand that that was not necessary。
‘‘So you say ideas to him are not serious…’’
‘‘Yes； and to me nothing else is serious。 All the while I was in Petersburg； I seemed to be seeing every one in a dream。 When I am absorbed by an idea； nothing else is serious。’’
‘‘Oh； what a pity I didn’t see your meeting with the children；’’ said Natasha。 ‘‘Which was the most pleased？ Liza； of course？’’
‘‘Yes；’’ said Pierre； and he went on with what interested him。 ‘‘Nikolay says we ought not to think。 But I can’t help it。 To say nothing of the fact （I can say so to you） that in Petersburg I felt that the whole thing would go to pieces without me； every one pulled his own way。 But I succeeded in bringing them all together； and then my idea is so clear and simple。 I don’t say we ought to work against so and so。 We may be mistaken。 But I say let those join hands who care for the good cause； and let our one standard be energy and honesty。 Prince Sergey is a capital fellow； and clever。’’
Natasha would have had no doubt that Pierre’s idea was a grand idea； but that one thing troubled her。 It was his being her husband。 ‘‘Is it possible that a man of such value； of such importance to society； is at the same time my husband？ How can it have happened？’’ She wanted to express this doubt to him。 ‘‘Who are the persons who could decide positively whether he is so much cleverer than all of them？’’ she wondered； and she went over in imagination the people who were very much respected by Pierre。 There was nobody whom； to judge by his own account； he had respected so much as Platon Karataev。
‘‘Do you know what I am thinking about？’’ she said。 ‘‘About Platon Karataev。 What would he have said？ Would he have approved of you now？’’
Pierre was not in the least surprised at this question。 He understood the connection of his wife’s ideas。
‘‘Platon Karataev？’’ he said； and he pondered； evidently trying sincerely to picture what Karataev’s judgment would have been on the subject。 ‘‘He would not have understood； and yet； perhaps； he would。’’
‘‘I like you awfully！’’ said Natasha all at once。 ‘‘Awfully！ awfully！’’
‘‘No； he wouldn’t have approved；’’ said Pierre； musing。 ‘‘What he would have approved of is our home life。 He did so like to see seemliness； happiness； peace in everything； and I could have shown him all of us with pride。 You talk about separation。 But you would not believe what a special feeling I have for you after separation …’’
‘‘And； besides； …’’ Natasha was beginning。
‘‘No； not so。 I never leave off loving you。 And one couldn’t love more； but it’s something special。…’’ He did not finish； because their eyes meeting said the rest。
‘‘What nonsense；’’ said Natasha suddenly； ‘‘it all is about the honeymoon and that the greatest happiness is at first。 On the contrary； now is much the best。 If only you wouldn’t go away。 Do you remember how we used to quarrel？ And I was always in the wrong。 It was always my doing。 And what we quarrelled about—I don’t remember even。’’
‘‘Always the same thing；’’ said Pierre smiling。 ‘‘Jea …’’
‘‘Don’t say it； I can’t bear it；’’ cried Natasha； and a cold； vindictive light gleamed in her eyes。 ‘‘Did you see her？’’ she added after a pause。
‘‘No； and if I had； I shouldn’t have known her。’’
They were silent。
‘‘Oh！ do you know； when you were talking in the study； I was looking at you；’’ said Natasha； obviously trying to drive away the cloud that had come between them。 ‘‘And do you know you are like him as two drops of water； like the boy。’’ That was what she called her baby son。 ‘‘Ah； it’s time I went to him。 … But I am sorry to go away。’’
They were both silent for some seconds。 Then all at once； at the same moment； they turned to each other and began talking。 Pierre was beginning with self…satisfaction and enthusiasm； Natasha with a soft； happy smile。 Interrupting each other； both stopped； waiting for the other to go on。
‘‘No； what is it？ Tell me； tell me。’’
‘‘No； you tell me； it wasn’t anything； only nonsense；’’ said Natasha。
Pierre said what he had been going to say。 It was the sequel to his complacent reflections on his success in Petersburg。 It seemed to him at that moment that he was destined to give a new direction to the progress of the whole of Russian society and of the whole world。
‘‘I only meant to say that all ideas that have immense results are always simple。 All my idea really is that if vicious people are united and form a power； honest men must do the same。 It’s so simple； you see。’’
‘‘Yes。’’
‘‘But what were you going to say？’’
‘‘Oh； nothing； nonsense。’’
‘‘No； say it though。’’
‘‘Oh； nothing； only silly nonsense；’’ said Natasha； breaking into a more beaming smile than ever。 ‘‘I was only going to tell you about Petya。 Nurse came up to take him from me to…day； he laughed and puckered up his face and squeezed up to me—I suppose he thought he was hiding。 He’s awfully sweet。 … There he is crying。 Well； good…bye！’’ and she ran out of the room。
Meanwhile； below in Nikolinka Bolkonsky’s bedroom a lamp was burning as usual （the boy was afraid of the dark and could not be cured of this weakness）。 Dessalle was asleep with his head high on his four pillows； and his Roman nose gave forth rhythmic sounds of snoring。 Nikolinka had just waked up in a cold sweat； and was sitting up in bed； gazing with wide…open eyes straight before him。 He had been waked by a fearful dream。 In his dream his Uncle Pierre and he in helmets； such as appeared in the illustrations in his Plutarch； were marching at the head of an immense army。 This army was made up of slanting； white threads that filled the air like those spider…webs that float in autumn and that Dessalle used to call le fil de la Vierge。 Ahead of them was glory； which was something like those threads too； only somewhat more opaque。 They—he and Pierre—wer