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Bilibin shrugged his shoulders to denote that for such a trouble even he could suggest no remedy。
“Une ma？tresse…femme！ That is what’s called putting the question squarely。 She would like to be married to all three at once；” thought Bilibin。
“But do tell me what is your husband’s view of the question？” he said； the security of his reputation saving him from all fear of discrediting himself by so na？ve a question。 “Does he consent？”
“Oh； he is so fond of me！” said Ellen； who； for some unknown reason； fancied that Pierre too adored her。 “Il fera tout pour moi。”
Bilibin puckered up his face in preparation of the coming mot。
“Même le divorce？” he said。
Ellen laughed。
Among the persons who ventured to question the legality of the proposed marriage was Ellen’s mother； Princess Kuragin。 She had constantly suffered pangs of envy of her daughter； and now when the ground for such envy was the one nearest to her own heart； she could not reconcile herself to the idea of it。
She consulted a Russian priest to ascertain how far divorce and remarriage was possible for a woman in her husband’s lifetime。 The priest assured her that this was impossible； and to her delight referred her to the text in the Gospel in which （as it seemed to the priest） remarriage during the lifetime of the husband was directly forbidden。
Armed with these arguments； which seemed to her irrefutable； Princess Kuragin drove round to her daughter’s early one morning in order to find her alone。
Ellen heard her mother’s protests to the end； and smiled with bland sarcasm。
“You see it is plainly said： ‘He who marryeth her that is divorced…’ ”
“O mamma； don’t talk nonsense。 You don’t understand。 In my position I have duties…” Ellen began； passing out of Russian into French； for in the former language she always felt a lack of clearness about her case。
“But； my dear…”
“O mamma； how is it you don’t understand that the Holy Father； who has the right of granting dispensations…”
At that moment the lady companion； who lived in Ellen’s house； came in to announce that his highness was in the drawing…room； and wished to see her。
“No； tell him I don’t want to see him； that I am furious with him for not keeping his word。”
“Countess； there is mercy for every sin；” said a young man with fair hair and a long face and long nose。
The old princess rose respectfully and curtsied at his entrance。 The young man took no notice of her。 Princess Kuragin nodded to her daughter； and swam to the door。
“Yes； she is right；” thought the old princess； all of whose convictions had been dissipated by the appearance of his highness on the scene。 “She is right； but how was it in our youth—gone now for ever—we knew nothing of this？ And it is so simple；” thought Princess Kuragin； as she settled herself in her carriage。
At the beginning of August Ellen’s affairs were settled； and she wrote to her husband （who； as she supposed； was deeply attached to her） a letter； in which she made known to him her intention of marrying N。 N。 She informed him also of her conversion to the one true faith； and begged him to go through all the necessary formalities for obtaining a divorce； of which the bearer of the letter would give him further details。 “On which I pray God to have you in His holy and powerful keeping。 Your friend； Ellen。”
This letter was brought to Pierre’s house at the time when he was on the field of Borodino。
Chapter 8
AT THE END of the day of Borodino； Pierre ran for a second time from Raevsky’s battery； and with crowds of soldiers crossed the ravine on the way to Knyazkovo。 There he reached an ambulance tent； and seeing blood and hearing screams and groans； he hurried on； caught up in a mob of soldiers。
The one thing Pierre desired now with his whole soul was to get away from the terrible sensations in which he had passed that day； to get back into the ordinary conditions of life； and to go to sleep quietly indoors in his own bed。 He felt that only in the ordinary conditions of life would he be fit to understand himself and all he had seen and felt。 But the ordinary conditions of life were nowhere to be found。
Though bullets and cannon balls were not whistling here on the road along which he was going； still he saw here on all sides the same sights as on the field of battle。 There were everywhere the same suffering； exhausted； and sometimes strangely indifferent faces； everywhere the same blood and soldiers’ overcoats； the same sound of firing at a distance； yet still rousing the same horror。 There was heat and dust besides。
After walking about three versts along the Mozhaisk road； Pierre sat down by the roadside。
The shadows of night were beginning to fall over the earth； and the roar of cannon died down。 Pierre lay leaning on his elbow； and lay so a long while； gazing at the shadows passing by him in the dusk。 He was continually fancying that a cannon ball was swooping down upon him with a fearful whiz。 He started and sat up。 He had no idea how long he had been there。 In the middle of the night； three soldiers； dragging branches after them； settled themselves near him and began making a fire。
Casting sidelong glances at Pierre； the soldiers lighted the fire； set a pot on it； broke up their biscuits into it； and put in some lard。 The pleasant odour of the savoury and greasy mess blended with the smell of smoke。 Pierre raised himself and sighed。 The soldiers （there were three of them） were eating and talking among themselves。 without taking any notice of Pierre。
“And what lot will you be one of？” one of the soldiers suddenly asked Pierre； evidently suggesting in this inquiry precisely what Pierre was thinking about。 “If you are hungry we’ll give you some； only tell us whether you’re a true man。”
“I？” … said Pierre； feeling the necessity of minimising his social position as far as possible； so as to be closer to the soldiers and more within their range。 “I am really a militia officer； but my company’s nowhere about； I came to the battle and lost sight of my comrades。”
“Well！ Fancy that！” said one of the soldiers。
Another soldier shook his head。
“Well； you can have some of the mash； if you like！” said the first； and licking a wooden spoon he gave it to Pierre。
Pierre squatted by the fire； and fell to eating the mess in the pot； which seemed to him the most delicious dish he had ever tasted。 While he was bending over the pot； helping himself to big spoonfuls and greedily munching one after another； the soldiers stared at him in silence。
“Where do you want to go？ Tell us！” the first of them asked again。
“To Mozhaisk。”
“You’re a gentleman； then？”
“Yes。”
“And what’s your name？”
“Pyotr Kirillovitch。”
“Well； Pyotr Kirillovitch； come along； we’ll take you there。”
In the pitch dark the soldiers and Pierre walked to Mozhaisk。
The cocks were crowing when they reached Mozhaisk； and began ascending the steep hill into the town。
Pierre walked on with the soldiers； entirely forgetting that his inn was at the bottom of the hill and he had passed it。 He would not have been aware of this—so preoccupied was he—if he had not chanced halfway up the hill to stumble across his groom； who had been to lo