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waltz； and during the waltz； squeezing her waist and her hand； he told her she was bewitching and that he loved her。 During the écossaise； which she danced again with Kuragin； when they were left alone Anatole said nothing to her； he simply looked at her。 Natasha was in doubt whether she had not dreamed what he said to her during the waltz。 At the end of the first figure he pressed her hand again。 Natasha lifted her frightened eyes to his face； but there was an expression of such assurance and warmth in his fond look and smile that she could not as she looked at him say what she had to say to him。 She dropped her eyes。
“Don’t say such things to me。 I am betrothed； and I love another man …” she articulated rapidly。 She glanced at him。 Anatole was neither disconcerted nor mortified at what she had said。
“Don’t talk to me of that。 What is that to me；” he said； “I tell you I am mad； mad with love of you。 Is it my fault that you are fascinating？…It’s for us to begin。”
Natasha； eager and agitated； looked about her with wide…open； frightened eyes； and seemed to be enjoying herself more than usual。 She scarcely grasped anything that happened that evening。 They danced the écossaise and “Grandfather。” Her father suggested their going； and she begged to stay longer。 Wherever she was； and with whomsoever she was speaking； she felt his eyes upon her。 Then she remembered that she had asked her father’s permission to go into a dressing…room to rearrange her dress； that Ellen had followed her； had talked to her； laughing； of her brother’s passion； and that in the little divan…room she had been met again by Anatole； that Ellen had somehow vanished； they were left alone； and Anatole taking her by the hand； had said in a tender voice：
“I can’t come to see you； but is it possible that I shall never see you？ I love you madly。 Can I never …？” and barring her way he brought his face close to hers。
His large； shining； masculine eyes were so close to her eyes； that she could see nothing but those eyes。
“Natalie？” his voice whispered interrogatively； and her hands were squeezed till it hurt。 “Natalie？”
“I don’t understand； I have nothing to say；” was the answer in her eyes。
Burning lips were pressed to her lips； and at the same instant she felt herself set free again； and caught the sound of Ellen’s steps and rustling gown in the room again。 Natasha looked round towards Ellen； then； red and trembling； she glanced at him with alarmed inquiry； and moved towards the door。
“One word； just one word； for God’s sake；” Anatole was saying。 She stopped。 She so wanted him to say that word； that would have explained to her what had happened and to which she could have found an answer。
“Natalie； one word … one …” he kept repeating； plainly not knowing what to say； and he repeated it till Ellen reached them。
Ellen went back with Natasha to the drawing…room。 The Rostovs went away without staying to supper。
When she got home； Natasha did not sleep all night。 She was tortured by the insoluble question； Which did she love； Anatole or Prince Andrey？ Prince Andrey； she did love—she remembered clearly how great her love was for him。 But she loved Anatole too； of that there was no doubt。 “Else could all that have happened？” she thought。 “If after that I could answer with a smile to his smile at parting； if I could sink to that； it means that I fell in love with him from the first minute。 So he must be kind； noble； and good； and I could not help loving him。 What am I to do； if I love him and the other too？” she said to herself； and was unable to find an answer to those terrible questions。
Chapter 14
THE MORNING came with daily cares and bustle。 Every one got up and began to move about and to talk； dressmakers came again； again Marya Dmitryevna went out and they were summoned to tea。 Natasha kept uneasily looking round at every one with wide…open eyes； as though she wanted to intercept every glance turned upon her。 She did her utmost to seem exactly as usual。
After luncheon—it was always her best time—Marya Dmitryevna seated herself in her own arm…chair and drew Natasha and the old count to her。
“Well； my friends； I have thought the whole matter over now； and I’ll tell you my advice；” she began。 “Yesterday； as you know； I was at Prince Bolkonsky’s； well； I had a talk with him…He thought fit to scream at me。 But there’s no screaming me down！ I had it all out with him。”
“Well； but what does he mean？” asked the count。
“He’s crazy…he won’t hear of it； and there’s no more to be said。 As it is we have given this poor girl worry enough；” said Marya Dmitryevna。 “And my advice to you is； to make an end of it and go home to Otradnoe…and there to wait。”
“Oh no！” cried Natasha。
“Yes； to go home；” said Marya Dmitryevna； “and to wait there。 If your betrothed comes here now； there’ll be no escaping a quarrel； but alone here he’ll have it all out with the old man； and then come on to you。”
Count Ilya Andreitch approved of this suggestion； and at once saw all the sound sense of it。 If the old man were to come round； then it would be better to visit him at Moscow or Bleak Hills； later on； if not； then the wedding； against his will； could only take place at Otradnoe。
“And that’s perfectly true；” said he。 “I regret indeed that I ever went to see him and took her too；” said the count。
“No； why regret it？ Being here； you could do no less than show him respect。 If he wouldn’t receive it； that’s his affair；” said Marya Dmitryevna； searching for something in her reticule。 “And now the trousseau’s ready； what have you to wait for？ What is not ready； I’ll send after you。 Though I’m sorry to lose you； still the best thing is for you to go； and God be with you。” Finding what she was looking for in her reticule； she handed it to Natasha。 It was a letter from Princess Marya。 “She writes to you。 How worried she is； poor thing！ She is afraid you might think she does not like you。”
“Well； she doesn’t like me；” said Natasha。
“Nonsense； don’t say so；” cried Marya Dmitryevna。
“I won’t take any one’s word for that； I know she doesn’t like me；” said Natasha boldly as she took the letter； and there was a look of cold and angry resolution in her face； that made Marya Dmitryevna look at her more closely and frown。
“Don’t you answer me like that； my good girl；” she said。 “If I say so； it’s the truth。 Write an answer to her。”
Natasha made no reply； and went to her own room to read Princess Marya’s letter。
Princess Marya wrote that she was in despair at the misunderstanding that had arisen between them。 Whatever her father’s feelings might be； wrote Princess Marya； she begged Natasha to believe that she could not fail to love her； as the girl chosen by her brother； for whose happiness she was ready to make any sacrifice。
“Do not believe； though；” she wrote； “that my father is ill…disposed to you。 He is an old man and an invalid； for whom one must make excuses。 But he is good…hearted and generous； and will come to love the woman who makes his son happy。” Princess Marya begged Natasha； too； to fix a time when she might see her again。
After reading the letter； Natasha sat down to the w