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“And fancy! she refused him quite definitely!” adding, after a pause, “she told him she loved another.”
“Yes, my Snya could not have done otherwise!” thought Nicholas.
“Much as Mamma pressed her, she refused, and I know she won’t change once she has said...”
“And Mamma pressed her!” said Nicholas reproachfully.
“Yes,” said Natsha. “Do you know, Nicholas—don’t be angry—but I know you will not marry her. I know, heaven knows how, but I know for certain that you won’t marry her.”
“Now you don’t know that at all!” said Nicholas. “But I must talk to her. What a darling Snya is!” he added with a smile.
“Ah, she is indeed a darling! I’ll send her to you.”
And Natsha kissed her brother and ran away.
A minute later Snya came in with a frightened, guilty, and scared look. Nicholas went up to her and kissed her hand. This was the first time since his return that they had talked alone and about their love.
“Sophie,” he began, timidly at first and then more and more boldly, “if you wish to refuse one who is not only a brilliant and advantageous match but a splendid, noble fellow... he is my friend...”
Snya interrupted him.
“I have already refused,” she said hurriedly.
“If you are refusing for my sake, I am afraid that I...”
Snya again interrupted. She gave him an imploring, frightened look.
“Nicholas, don’t tell me that!” she said.
“No, but I must. It may be arrogant of me, but still it is best to say it. If you refuse him on my account, I must tell you the whole truth. I love you, and I think I love you more than anyone else....”
“That is enough for me,” said Snya, blushing.
“No, but I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in love again, though for no one have I such a feeling of friendship, confidence, and love as I have for you. Then I am young. Mamma does not wish it. In a word, I make no promise. And I beg you to consider Dlokhov’s offer,” he said, articulating his friend’s name with difficulty.
“Don’t say that to me! I want nothing. I love you as a brother and always shall, and I want nothing more.”
“You are an angel: I am not worthy of you, but I am afraid of misleading you.”
And Nicholas again kissed her hand.
Iogel’s were the most enjoyable balls in Moscow. So said the mothers as they watched their young people executing their newly learned steps, and so said the youths and maidens themselves as they danced till they were ready to drop, and so said the grown-up young men and women who came to these balls with an air of condescension and found them most enjoyable. That year two marriages had come of these balls. The two pretty young Princesses Gorchakv met suitors there and were married and so further increased the fame of these dances. What distinguished them from others was the absence of host or hostess and the presence of the good-natured Iogel, flying about like a feather and bowing according to the rules of his art, as he collected the tickets from all his visitors. There was the fact that only those came who wished to dance and amuse themselves as girls of thirteen and fourteen do who are wearing long dresses for the first time. With scarcely any exceptions they all were, or seemed to be, pretty—so rapturous were their smiles and so sparkling their eyes. Sometimes the best of the pupils, of whom Natsha, who was exceptionally graceful, was first, even danced the pas de chle, but at this last ball only the cossaise, the anglaise, and the mazurka, which was just coming into fashion, were danced. Iogel had taken a ballroom in Bezkhov’s house, and the ball, as everyone said, was a great success. There were many pretty girls and the Rostv girls were among the prettiest. They were both particularly happy and gay. That evening, proud of Dlokhov’s proposal, her refusal, and her explanation with Nicholas, Snya twirled about before she left home so that the maid could hardly get her hair plaited, and she was transparently radiant with impulsive joy.
Natsha no less proud of her first long dress and of being at a real ball was even happier. They were both dressed in white muslin with pink ribbons.
Natsha fell in love the very moment she entered the ballroom. She was not in love with anyone in particular, but with everyone. Whatever person she happened to look at she was in love with for that moment.
“Oh, how delightful it is!” she kept saying, running up to Snya.
Nicholas and Densov were walking up and down, looking with kindly patronage at the dancers.
“How sweet she is—she will be a weal beauty!” said Densov.
“Who?”
“Countess Natsha,” answered Densov.
“And how she dances! What gwace!” he said again after a pause.
“Who are you talking about?”
“About your sister,” ejaculated Densov testily.
Rostv smiled.
“My dear count, you were one of my best pupils—you must dance,” said little Iogel coming up to Nicholas. “Look how many charming young ladies—” He turned with the same request to Densov who was also a former pupil of his.
“No, my dear fellow, I’ll be a wallflower,” said Densov. “Don’t you wecollect what bad use I made of your lessons?”
“Oh no!” said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. “You were only inattentive, but you had talent—oh yes, you had talent!”
The band struck up the newly introduced mazurka. Nicholas could not refuse Iogel and asked Snya to dance. Densov sat down by the old ladies and, leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot, told them something funny and kept them amused, while he watched the young people dancing, Iogel with Natsha, his pride and his best pupil, were the first couple. Noiselessly, skillfully stepping with his little feet in low shoes, Iogel flew first across the hall with Natsha, who, though shy, went on carefully executing her steps. Densov did not take his eyes off her and beat time with his saber in a way that clearly indicated that if he was not dancing it was because he would not and not because he could not. In the middle of a figure he beckoned to Rostv who was passing:
“This is not at all the thing,” he said. “What sort of Polish mazuwka is this? But she does dance splendidly.”
