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Knowing that Densov had a reputation even in Poland for the masterly way in which he danced the mazurka, Nicholas ran up to Natsha:
“Go and choose Densov. He is a real dancer, a wonder!” he said.
When it came to Natsha’s turn to choose a partner, she rose and, tripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran timidly to the corner where Densov sat. She saw that everybody was looking at her and waiting. Nicholas saw that Densov was refusing though he smiled delightedly. He ran up to them.
“Please, Vasli Dmtrich,” Natsha was saying, “do come!”
“Oh no, let me off, Countess,” Densov replied.
“Now then, Vska,” said Nicholas.
“They coax me as if I were Vska the cat!” said Densov jokingly.
“I’ll sing for you a whole evening,” said Natsha.
“Oh, the faiwy! She can do anything with me!” said Densov, and he unhooked his saber. He came out from behind the chairs, clasped his partner’s hand firmly, threw back his head, and advanced his foot, waiting for the beat. Only on horse back and in the mazurka was Densov’s short stature not noticeable and he looked the fine fellow he felt himself to be. At the right beat of the music he looked sideways at his partner with a merry and triumphant air, suddenly stamped with one foot, bounded from the floor like a ball, and flew round the room taking his partner with him. He glided silently on one foot half across the room, and seeming not to notice the chairs was dashing straight at them, when suddenly, clinking his spurs and spreading out his legs, he stopped short on his heels, stood so a second, stamped on the spot clanking his spurs, whirled rapidly round, and, striking his left heel against his right, flew round again in a circle. Natsha guessed what he meant to do, and abandoning herself to him followed his lead hardly knowing how. First he spun her round, holding her now with his left, now with his right hand, then falling on one knee he twirled her round him, and again jumping up, dashed so impetuously forward that it seemed as if he would rush through the whole suite of rooms without drawing breath, and then he suddenly stopped and performed some new and unexpected steps. When at last, smartly whirling his partner round in front of her chair, he drew up with a click of his spurs and bowed to her, Natsha did not even make him a curtsy. She fixed her eyes on him in amazement, smiling as if she did not recognize him.
“What does this mean?” she brought out.
Although Iogel did not acknowledge this to be the real mazurka, everyone was delighted with Densov’s skill, he was asked again and again as a partner, and the old men began smilingly to talk about Poland and the good old days. Densov, flushed after the mazurka and mopping himself with his handkerchief, sat down by Natsha and did not leave her for the rest of the evening.
For two days after that Rostv did not see Dlokhov at his own or at Dlokhov’s home: on the third day he received a note from him:
As I do not intend to be at your house again for reasons you know of, and am going to rejoin my regiment, I am giving a farewell supper tonight to my friends—come to the English Hotel.
About ten o’clock Rostv went to the English Hotel straight from the theater, where he had been with his family and Densov. He was at once shown to the best room, which Dlokhov had taken for that evening. Some twenty men were gathered round a table at which Dlokhov sat between two candles. On the table was a pile of gold and paper money, and he was keeping the bank. Rostv had not seen him since his proposal and Snya’s refusal and felt uncomfortable at the thought of how they would meet.
Dlokhov’s clear, cold glance met Rostv as soon as he entered the door, as though he had long expected him.
“It’s a long time since we met,” he said. “Thanks for coming. I’ll just finish dealing, and then Ilyshka will come with his chorus.”
“I called once or twice at your house,” said Rostv, reddening.
Dlokhov made no reply.
“You may punt,” he said.
Rostv recalled at that moment a strange conversation he had once had with Dlokhov. “None but fools trust to luck in play,” Dlokhov had then said.
“Or are you afraid to play with me?” Dlokhov now asked as if guessing Rostv’s thought.
Beneath his smile Rostv saw in him the mood he had shown at the club dinner and at other times, when as if tired of everyday life he had felt a need to escape from it by some strange, and usually cruel, action.
Rostv felt ill at ease. He tried, but failed, to find some joke with which to reply to Dlokhov’s words. But before he had thought of anything, Dlokhov, looking straight in his face, said slowly and deliberately so that everyone could hear:
“Do you remember we had a talk about cards... ‘He’s a fool who trusts to luck, one should make certain,’ and I want to try.”
“To try his luck or the certainty?” Rostv asked himself.
“Well, you’d better not play,” Dlokhov added, and springing a new pack of cards said: “Bank, gentlemen!”
Moving the money forward he prepared to deal. Rostv sat down by his side and at first did not play. Dlokhov kept glancing at him.
“Why don’t you play?” he asked.
And strange to say Nicholas felt that he could not help taking up a card, putting a small stake on it, and beginning to play.
“I have no money with me,” he said.
“I’ll trust you.”
Rostv staked five rubles on a card and lost, staked again, and again lost. Dlokhov “killed,” that is, beat, ten cards of Rostv’s running.
“Gentlemen,” said Dlokhov after he had dealt for some time. “Please place your money on the cards or I may get muddled in the reckoning.”
One of the players said he hoped he might be trusted.
“Yes, you might, but I am afraid of getting the accounts mixed. So I ask you to put the money on your cards,” replied Dlokhov. “Don’t stint yourself, we’ll settle afterwards,” he added, turning to Rostv.
The game continued; a waiter kept handing round champagne.
All Rostv’s cards were beaten and he had eight hundred rubles scored up against him. He wrote “800 rubles” on a card, but while the waiter filled his glass he changed his mind and altered it to his usual stake of twenty rubles.
“Leave it,” said Dlokhov, though he did not seem to be even looking at Rostv, “you’ll win it back all the sooner. I lose to the others but win from you. Or are you afraid of me?” he asked again.
