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Six weeks after Anna Pavlovna’s party； and the sleepless and agitated night after it； in which Pierre had made up his mind that a marriage with Ellen would be a calamity； and that he must avoid her and go away； six weeks after that decision Pierre had still not left Prince Vassily’s； and felt with horror that every day he was more and more connected with her in people’s minds； that he could not go back to his former view of her； that he could not tear himself away from her even； that it would be an awful thing； but that he would have to unite his life to hers。 Perhaps he might have mastered himself； but not a day passed without a party at Prince Vassily’s （where receptions had not been frequent）； and Pierre was bound to be present if he did not want to disturb the general satisfaction and disappoint every one。 At the rare moments when Prince Vassily was at home； he took Pierre’s hand if he passed him； carelessly offered him his shaven； wrinkled cheek for a kiss； and said； “till to…morrow；” or “be in to dinner； or I shan’t see you；” or “I shall stay at home on your account；” or some such remark。 But although； when Prince Vassily did stay at home for Pierre （as he said）； he never spoke two words to him； Pierre did not feel equal to disappointing him。 Every day he said the same thing over and over to himself。 “I must really understand her and make up my mind； what she is。 Was I mistaken before； or am I mistaken now？ No； she’s not stupid； no； she’s a good girl；” he said to himself sometimes。 “She never makes a mistake； nor has said anything stupid。 She says very little； but what she does say is always simple and clear。 So she’s not stupid。 She has never been abashed； and she is not abashed now。 So she isn’t a bad woman。” It often happened that he began to make reflections； to think aloud in her company； and every time she had replied either by a brief； but appropriate remark； that showed she was not interested in the matter； or by a mute smile and glance； which more palpably than anything proved to Pierre her superiority。 She was right in regarding all reflections as nonsense in comparison with that smile。
She always addressed him now with a glad； confiding smile—a smile having reference to him alone； and full of something more significant than the society smile that always adorned her face。 Pierre knew that every one was only waiting for him to say one word； to cross a certain line； and he knew that sooner or later he would cross it。 But a kind of uncomprehended horror seized upon him at the mere thought of this fearful step。 A thousand times in the course of those six weeks； during which he felt himself being drawn on further and further toward the abyss that horrified him； Pierre had said to himself： “But what does it mean？ I must act with decision！ Can it be that I haven’t any？” He tried to come to a decision； but felt with dismay that he had not in this case the strength of will which he had known in himself and really did possess。 Pierre belonged to that class of persons who are only strong when they feel themselves perfectly pure。 And ever since the day when he had been overcome by the sensation of desire； that he had felt stooping over the snuff…box at Anna Pavlovna’s； an unconscious sense of the sinfulness of that impulse paralysed his will。
On Ellen’s name…day； Prince Vassily was giving a little supper party of just their own people； as his wife said； that is； of friends and relations。 All these friends and relations were made to feel that the day was to be a momentous one in the young lady’s life。 The guests were seated at supper。 Princess Kuragin； a massive woman of imposing presence； who had once been beautiful； sat in the hostess’ place； with the most honoured guests on each side of her—an old general and his wife； and Anna Pavlovna Scherer。 Towards the bottom of the table sat the less elderly and less honoured guests； and there too sat as members of the family Pierre and Ellen； side by side。 Prince Vassily did not take supper。 He moved to and fro about the table； in excellent spirits； sitting down beside one guest after another。 To every one he dropped a few careless and agreeable words； except to Pierre and Ellen； whose presence he seemed not to notice。 Prince Vassily enlivened the whole company。 The wax candles burned brightly； there was a glitter of silver and crystal on the table； of ladies’ ornaments and the gold and silver of epaulettes。 The servants threaded their way in and out round the table in their red coats。 There was a clatter of knives； glasses； and plates； and the sound of eager talk from several separate conversations round the table。 The old kammerherr at one end could be heard asseverating to an elderly baroness his ardent love for her； while she laughed。 At the other end an anecdote was being told of the ill…success of some Marya Viktorovna。 In the centre Prince Vassily concentrated the attention on himself。 With a playful smile on his lips； he was telling the ladies about the last Wednesday’s session of the privy council； at which Sergey Kuzmitch Vyazmitinov； the new military governor…general of Petersburg； had received and read a rescript—much talked of at the time—from the Emperor Alexander Pavlovitch。 The Emperor； writing from the army to Sergey Kuzmitch； had said that on all sides he was receiving proofs of the devotion of his people； and that the testimony from Petersburg was particularly gratifying to him； that he was proud of the honour of being at the head of such a people； and would do his best to be worthy of it。 This rescript began with the words： “Sergey Kuzmitch。 From all sides reports reach me；” etc。
“So that he never got further with it than ‘Sergey Kuzmitch’？” one lady asked。
“No； no； not a syllable；” Prince Vassily answered laughing。 “ ‘Sergey Kuzmitch…from all sides。’ ‘From all sides…Sergey Kuzmitch。…’ Poor Vyazmitinov could not get any further。 Several times he started upon the letter again； but no sooner did he utter ‘Sergey；’…than a sniff…‘Kuz…mi…itch’—tears…and ‘from all sides’ is smothered in sobs； and he can get no further。 And again the handkerchief and again ‘Sergey Kuzmitch from all sides’ and tears；…so that we begged some one else to read it。…”
“ ‘Kuzmitch…from all sides’…and tears。…” some one repeated； laughing。
“Don’t be naughty；” said Anna Pavlovna； from the other end of the table； shaking her finger at him。 “He is such a worthy； excellent man； our good Vyazmitinov。”
Every one laughed heartily。 At the upper end of the table； the place of honour； every one seemed in good spirits； under the influence of various enlivening tendencies。 Only Pierre and Ellen sat mutely side by side almost at the bottom of the table。 The faces of both wore a restrained but beaming smile that had no connection with Sergey Kuzmitch—the smile of bashfulness at their own feelings。 Gaily as the others laughed and talked and jested； appetising as were the Rhine wine； the sauté； and the ices they were discussing； carefully as they avoided glancing at the young couple； heedless and unobservant as they seemed of them； yet it was somehow perceptible from the glances stolen at times at them； that the anecdote about