PIERRE was sitting opposite Dolohov and Nikolay Rostov. He ate greedily and drank heavily, as he always did. But those who knew him slightly could see that some great change was taking place in him that day. He was silent all through dinner, and blinking and screwing up his eyes, looked about him, or letting his eyes rest on something with an air of complete absent-mindedness, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger. His face was depressed and gloomy. He seemed not to be seeing or hearing what was passing about him and to be thinking of some one thing, something painful and unsettled.
This unsettled question that worried him was due to the hints dropped by the princess, his cousin, at Moscow in regard to Dolohov's close intimacy with his wife, and to an anonymous letter he had received that morning, which, with the vile jocoseness peculiar to all anonymous letters, had said that he didn't seem to see clearly through his spectacles, and that his wife's connection with Dolohov was a secret from no one but himself. Pierre did not absolutely believe either the princess's hints, or the anonymous letter, but he was afraid now to look at Dolohov, who sat opposite him. Every time his glance casually met Dolohov's handsome, insolent eyes, Pierre felt as though something awful, hideous was rising up in his soul, and he made haste to turn away. Involuntarily recalling all his wife's past and her attitude to Dolohov, Pierre saw clearly that what was said in the letter might well be true, might at least appear to be the truth, if only it had not related to his wife. Pierre could not help recalling how Dolohov, who had been completely reinstated, had returned to Petersburg and come to see him. Dolohov had taken advantage of his friendly relations with Pierre in their old rowdy days, had come straight to his house, and Pierre had established him in it and lent him money. Pierre recalled how Ellen, smiling, had expressed her dissatisfaction at Dolohov's staying in their house, and how cynically Dolohov had praised his wife's beauty to him, and how he had never since left them up to the time of their coming to Moscow.
“Yes, he is very handsome,” thought Pierre, “and I know him. There would be a particular charm for him in disgracing my name and turning me into ridicule, just because I have exerted myself in his behalf, have befriended him and helped him. I know, I understand what zest that would be sure to give to his betrayal of me, if it were true. Yes, if it were true, but I don't believe it. I have no right to and I can't believe it.” He recalled the expression on Dolohov's face in his moments of cruelty, such as when he was tying the police officer on to the bear and dropping him into the water, or when he had utterly without provocation challenged a man to a duel or killed a sledge-driver's horse with a shot from his pistol. That expression often came into Dolohov's face when he was looking at him. “Yes, he's a duelling bully,” thought Pierre; “to him it means nothing to kill a man, it must seem to him that every one's afraid of him. He must like it. He must think I am afraid of him. And, in fact, I really am afraid of him,” Pierre mused; and again at these thoughts he felt as though something terrible and hideous were rising up in his soul. Dolohov, Denisov, and Rostov were sitting facing Pierre and seemed to be greatly enjoying themselves. Rostov talked away merrily to his two friends, of whom one was a dashing hussar, the other a notorious duellist and scapegrace, and now and then cast ironical glances at Pierre, whose appearance at the dinner was a striking one, with his preoccupied, absent-minded, massive figure. Rostov looked with disfavour upon Pierre. In the first place, because Pierre, in the eyes of the smart hussar, was a rich civilian, and husband of a beauty, was altogether, in fact, an old woman. And secondly, because Pierre in his preoccupation and absent-mindedness had not recognised Rostov and had failed to respond to his bow. When they got up to drink the health of the Tsar, Pierre, plunged in thought, did not rise nor take up his glass.
“What are you about?” Rostov shouted to him, looking at him with enthusiastic and exasperated eyes. “Don't you hear: the health of our sovereign the Emperor!”
Pierre with a sigh obeyed, got up, emptied his glass, and waiting till all were seated again, he turned with his kindly smile to Rostov. “Why, I didn't recognise you,” he said. But Rostov had no thoughts for him, he was shouting “Hurrah!”
“Why don't you renew the acquaintance?” said Dolohov to Rostov.
“Oh, bother him, he's a fool,” said Rostov.
“One has to be sweet to the husbands of pretty women,” said Denisov. Pierre did not hear what they were saying, but he knew they were talking of him. He flushed and turned away. “Well, now to the health of pretty women,” said Dolohov, and with a serious expression, though a smile lurked in the corners of his mouth, he turned to Pierre.
“To the health of pretty women, Petrusha, and their lovers too,” he said.
Pierre, with downcast eyes, sipped his glass, without looking at Dolohov or answering him. The footman, distributing copies of Kutuzov's cantata, laid a copy by Pierre, as one of the more honoured guests. He would have taken it, but Dolohov bent forward, snatched the paper out of his hands and began reading it. Pierre glanced at Dolohov, and his eyes dropped; something terrible and hideous, that had been torturing him all through the dinner, rose up and took possession of him. He bent the whole of his ungainly person across the table. “Don't you dare to take it!” he shouted.
Hearing that shout and seeing to whom it was addressed, Nesvitsky and his neighbour on the right side turned in haste and alarm to Bezuhov.
“Hush, hush, what are you about?” whispered panic-stricken voices. Dolohov looked at Pierre with his clear, mirthful, cruel eyes, still with the same smile, as though he were saying: “Come now, this is what I like.”
“I won't give it up,” he said distinctly.
Pale and with quivering lips, Pierre snatched the copy.
“You…you…blackguard!…I challenge you,” he said, and moving back his chair, he got up from the table. At the second Pierre did this and uttered these words he felt that the question of his wife's guilt, that had been torturing him for the last four and twenty hours, was finally and incontestably answered in the affirmative. He hated her and was severed from her for ever. In spite of Denisov's entreaties that Rostov would have nothing to do with the affair, Rostov agreed to be Dolohov's second, and after dinner he discussed with Nesvitsky, Bezuhov's second, the arrangements for the duel. Pierre had gone home, but Rostov with Dolohov and Denisov stayed on at the club listening to the gypsies and the singers till late in the evening.
“So good-bye till to-morrow, at Sokolniky,” said Dolohov, as he parted from Rostov at the club steps.
“And do you feel quite calm?” asked Rostov.
Dolohov stopped.
“Well, do you see, in a couple of words I'll let you into the whole secret of duelling. If, when you go to a duel, you make your will and write long letters to your parents, if you think that you may be killed, you're a fool and certain to be done for. But go with the firm intention of killing your man, as quickly and as surely as may be, then everything will be all right. As our bear-killer from Kostroma used to say to me: ‘A bear,' he'd say, ‘why, who's not afraid of one? but come to see one and your fear's all gone, all you hope is he won't get away!' Well, that's just how I feel. A demain, mon cher.”
Next day at eight o'clock in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitsky reached the Sokolniky copse, and found Dolohov, Denisov, and Rostov already there. Pierre had the air of a man absorbed in reflections in no way connected with the matter in hand. His face looked hollow and yellow. He had not slept all night. He looked about him absent-mindedly, and screwed up his eyes, as though in glaring sunshine. He was exclusively absorbed by two considerations: the guilt of his wife, of which after a sleepless night he had not a vestige of doubt, and the guiltlessness of Dolohov, who was in no way bound to guard the honour of a man, who was nothing to him. “Maybe I should have done the same in his place,” thought Pierre. “For certain, indeed, I should have done the same; then why this duel, this murder? Either I shall kill him, or he will shoot me in the head, in the elbow, or the knee. To get away from here, to run, to bury myself somewhere,” was the longing that came into his mind. But precisely at the moments when such ideas were in his mind, he would turn with a peculiarly calm and unconcerned face, which inspired respect in the seconds looking at him, and ask: “Will it be soon?” or “Aren't we ready?”
When everything was ready, the swords stuck in the snow to mark the barrier, and the pistols loaded, Nesvitsky went up to Pierre.
“I should not be doing my duty, count,” he said in a timid voice, “nor justifying the confidence and the honour you have done me in choosing me for your second, if at this grave moment, this very grave moment, I did not speak the whole truth to you. I consider that the quarrel has not sufficient grounds and is not worth shedding blood over.… You were not right, not quite in the right; you lost your temper.…”
“Oh, yes, it was awfully stupid,” said Pierre.
“Then allow me to express your regret, and I am convinced that our opponents will agree to accept your apology,” said Nesvitsky (who, like the others assisting in the affair, and every one at such affairs, was unable to believe that the quarrel would come to an actual duel). “You know, count, it is far nobler to acknowledge one's mistake than to push things to the irrevocable. There was no great offence on either side. Permit me to convey…”
“No, what are you talking about?” said Pierre; “it doesn't matter.… Ready then?” he added. “Only tell me how and where I am to go, and what to shoot at?” he said with a smile unnaturally gentle. He took up a pistol, and began inquiring how to let it off, as he had never had a pistol in his hand before, a fact he did not care to confess. “Oh, yes, of course, I know, I had only forgotten,” he said.
“No apologies, absolutely nothing,” Dolohov was saying to Denisov, who for his part was also making an attempt at reconciliation, and he too went up to the appointed spot.
The place chosen for the duel was some eighty paces from the road, on which their sledges had been left, in a small clearing in the pine wood, covered with snow that had thawed in the warmer weather of the last few days. The antagonists stood forty paces from each other at the further edge of the clearing. The seconds, in measuring the paces, left tracks in the deep, wet snow from the spot where they had been standing to the swords of Nesvitsky and Denisov, which had been thrust in the ground ten paces from one another to mark the barrier. The thaw and mist persisted; forty paces away nothing could be seen. In three minutes everything was ready, but still they delayed beginning. Every one was silent.
皮埃尔坐在多洛霍夫和尼古拉·罗斯托夫对面，像平常一样，他贪婪地大吃大喝。但是那些熟悉他的人，今天看见他身上发生了某种巨大的变化。他在宴会上蹙起额角，眯缝起眼睛，自始至终地默不作声，他集中呆滞的目光环顾四周，用手指轻轻地揉着鼻梁，显示着漫不经心的样子。他的面孔变得沮丧而阴郁。看来，他好像没有看见，也没有听见在他周围发生的任何事情，心里总是思忖着一个沉重的悬而未决的问题。
这个悬而未决的，使他受到折磨的问题，就是那个住在莫斯科的公爵小姐向他暗示，说多洛霍夫和他妻子的关系密切，他今天早上收到一封匿名信，这封信含有十分可鄙的戏谑的意味，这正是所有匿名信固有的特点，信中说他戴着眼镜，视力很差；他妻子和多洛霍夫的关系，对他一个人来说，才是秘密。皮埃尔根本不相信公爵小姐的暗示，也不相信信中的内容，而在此时他看见坐在他面前的多洛霍夫，却使地觉得害怕。每逢他的目光和多洛霍夫的美丽动人的、放肆无礼的眼神无意中相遇时，皮埃尔就觉得，他心灵上常常浮现着一种可怕的、难以名状的东西，于是他立即转过脸去，不理睬他了。皮埃尔情不自禁地想起他妻子的往事、妻子和多洛霍夫的关系，并且他清楚地看出，假如这件事和他妻子无关，那末在信中说到的情形可能是真的，至少可能像是真的。皮埃尔情不自禁地想起，在这次战役之后多洛霍夫恢复原职了，他回到彼得堡来见他。多洛霍夫借助于他自己和皮埃尔之间的酒肉朋友关系，径直地走进他的住宅，皮埃尔安置他住下，借钱给他用。皮埃尔想起海伦怎样微露笑意，对多洛霍夫在他们家中居住表示不满，多洛霍夫厚颜无耻地向他夸奖他的妻子的姿色，他从那时起直到他抵达莫斯科以前，他须臾也没有离开他们。
“是的，他长得非常英俊，”皮埃尔心中思忖着，“我洞悉他的底细。他所以觉得玷辱我的名声并且嘲笑我是一件分外有趣的事，就是因为我替他奔走过，抚养过他、帮助他的缘故。我熟谙而且明了，假如真有其事，在他心目中，这就会给他的骗术增添一分风趣。假如真有其事，自然无可非议。但是我不相信，我无权利去相信，也不能相信这等事。”他回想起当多洛霍夫干残忍勾当的时候，他脸上所流露的那种表情，例如，他把警察分局局长和一头狗熊捆绑在一起扔进水里；或则无缘无故要求与人决斗；或则用手枪打死马车夫的驿马的时候，当他注视皮埃尔时，他脸上也常常带有这样的表情。
“是的，他是个好决斗的人，”皮埃尔想道。“在他看来，杀死一个人毫无关系，他一定觉得大家都害怕他，这一定使他觉得高兴。他一定也会想到，我也是害怕他的。我真的害怕他，”皮埃尔想道，在出现这些念头时，他又感觉到，他心灵深处浮现出某种可怕的、难以名状的东西。现在多洛霍夫、杰尼索夫和罗斯托夫坐在皮埃尔对面，似乎都非常高兴。罗斯托夫和他的两个朋友愉快地交谈，其中一人是骁勇的骠骑兵，另一人是众所周知的决斗家和浪荡公子，他有时讥讽地望着皮埃尔，而皮埃尔在这次宴会上六神无主，沉溺于自己的思想感情中，此外，他那高大的身材也使大家惊讶不已。罗斯托夫不友善地看着皮埃尔，其一是因为皮埃尔在他那骠骑兵心目中是个身无军职的富翁，美女的丈夫，总之是个懦弱的男人；其次是因为皮埃尔心不在焉，沉溺在自己的思想感情中，以致于认不得罗斯托夫，也没有向他鞠躬回礼。当众人为皇上的健康开始干杯的时候，皮埃尔陷入沉思状态中，他没有举起酒杯站立起来。
“您怎么啦？”罗斯托夫向他喊道，把那兴高采烈的、凶狠的目光投射在他身上。“您难道没有听见：为皇上的健康干杯吗！”皮埃尔叹了一口气，温顺地站起来，喝了一杯酒，等待他们坐定后，他脸上便流露着和善的微笑并且转过头去跟罗斯托夫谈话。
“我竟没有把您认出来。”他说。但是罗斯托夫哪能顾得这么多，他在高呼“乌拉！”
“你干嘛不重归旧好。”多洛霍夫向罗斯托夫说。
“傻瓜，去他的吧！”罗斯托夫说。
“应当爱护好女人的丈夫们。”杰尼索夫说。
皮埃尔没有听见他们说什么，但是他知道，他们正在谈论他。他涨红了脸，转过身去。
“唉，现在为美女们的健康干杯。”多洛霍夫说，面露严厉的表情，但他嘴角边含着微笑，他举起酒杯，把脸转向皮埃尔。
“彼得鲁沙，为美女们和她们的情夫干杯。”他说道。
皮埃尔垂下眼帘，正在喝着自己杯中的酒，他不去瞧多洛霍夫，也不回答他的话。仆人正在把那库图佐夫的大合唱曲分发给客人，把一张搁在更受人尊重的贵宾皮埃尔面前。他正想把它拿起来，可是多洛霍夫弯下腰去，从他手里把它夺走，开始朗诵大合唱。皮埃尔向多洛霍夫瞟了一眼，又垂下眼来，在整个宴会中间有一种使他心绪不安的可怕的、难以名状的东西在他心灵中浮现，把他控制住了。他把那肥大的身体探过桌子弯下来。
“您胆敢拿走！”他高喊一声。
涅斯维茨基和右面毗邻的旁人听见喊声并且看见他站在什么人面前，吓了一跳，他们赶快把脸转向别祖霍夫说道：“够了，够了，您干嘛？”可以听见惊恐而低沉的语声。多洛霍夫把那明亮、快活、残忍无情的目光朝着皮埃尔扫了一眼，含着微笑，仿佛在说：“啊，这就是我所喜爱的。”
“我不给。”他斩钉截铁地说。
皮埃尔脸色苍白，嘴唇颤抖，夺回那张纸。
“您……您……这个恶棍！……我向您提出决斗。”他说道，推开椅子，从桌子后面站起来。就在他做这件事并说这些话的那一瞬间，他觉得他妻子犯罪的问题，近日以来一直折磨他，现在已经确信无疑地、彻底地解决了。他痛恨她，永远和她断绝关系了。虽然杰尼索夫要求罗斯托夫不要干预这件事，但是罗斯托夫同意充当多洛霍夫决斗的证人，酒会结束后他和别祖霍夫决斗的证人涅斯维茨基商谈了决斗的条件。皮埃尔回家去了，罗斯托夫和多洛霍夫、杰尼索夫想听茨冈人和歌手唱歌，于是在俱乐部坐到深夜。
“那末，明天在索科尔尼克森林会面吧。”多洛霍夫在俱乐部台阶上和罗斯托夫告别时说道。
“你心情安宁吗？”罗斯托夫问道。
多洛霍夫停步了。
“你要明白，我用三言两语来把决斗的全部秘密如实地说给你听。如果你要去决斗，写下遗嘱，并且向父母写几封温情的信，如果你以为你会被人打死，那末，你就是个傻瓜，你真要完蛋；若是你很坚定，尽可能迅速而且准确地把他杀掉，那就会平安无事。我们有个科斯特罗马的猎狗熊的人多次对我说过：那个人说，怎么能不怕狗熊呢？可是一看见狗熊，就不再害怕它了，只希望它不要跑掉才好！嗬，我也是这样的。
A demain，mon cher！①”
①法语：我亲爱的，明天见。
次日，上午八点钟，皮埃尔和涅斯维茨基来到了索科尔尼克森林中，并且在那里发现多洛霍夫、杰尼索夫和罗斯托夫。皮埃尔露出那副样子，就像某人凝神思索着一些与即将发生的事情根本不相干的问题。他那深陷的脸孔变黄了。看来他一夜没有睡觉。他心不在焉地环顾四方，好像耀眼的阳光把他照射得蹙起了额角。他只是凝神地思索着两个问题：他的妻子有罪，经过不眠之夜他丝毫不怀疑这个问题了；再则是多洛霍夫无罪，因为他没有任何缘由去顾全异己者的荣誉。“我若是处在他的地位，大概我也会干出同样的事来，”皮埃尔想道，“甚至我真会干出同样的事来；为什么要决斗，为什么要残杀？要不就是我把他杀掉，要不就是他射中我的头部、胳膊肘、膝盖。他想从这儿走掉、跑掉、到什么地方去躲蔽起来。但是正当他脑海中出现这种想法时，他装出一副特别镇静、漫不经心的样子，他这副样子引起旁观者肃然起敬，他于是问：“时间快到了？准备好了吧？”
一切都准备停妥，马刀都插在雪地里，标致着双方相遇的界线，手枪装上子弹了。涅斯维茨基走到皮埃尔面前。
“伯爵，如果我在这个重要的时刻，非常重要的时刻，不把全部实情告诉您，我就没有履行自己的职责，我就会辜负了您挑选我当决斗见证人所给予我的信任和荣誉！”他用胆怯的嗓音说。“我认为决斗这件事没有充分的理由，不值得为决斗而流血……您做得不对，您未免太急躁了……”
“是啊，糊涂透了……”皮埃尔说。
“那么就让我转达您的歉意吧，我相信我们的敌手是会同意接受您的道歉的，”涅斯维茨基说（就像其他参与此事的人一样，也像所有参与此类事情的人一样，还不相信，这件事已经弄到非决斗不可的地步），“伯爵，您知道，意识到自己的错误，总比把事情弄到不可挽救的地步要高尚得多。任何一方都不会受到委屈。请允许我去举行谈判吧……”
“不，有什么可说的！”皮埃尔说，“横竖一样……准备好了吗？”他补充说。“您只要说给我听，向哪里走去，向哪里射击？”他说，脸上流露着不自然的温顺的微笑。他拿起手枪，开始问清楚使用扳机的方法，因为他直至此时还没有拿过手枪，这一点他是不想承认的，“啊，对了，就是这样开枪的，我知道，我只是忘了。”他说道。
“没有任何道歉的必要，根本没有必要。”多洛霍夫对杰尼索夫说，尽管杰尼索夫也试图讲和，也走到规定的地点。
决斗的地点选择在距离那停放雪橇的大路约莫八十步远的地方，那里有一小松林空地，近日来天气转暖，开始融化的残雪覆盖着松林空地。两个敌手站在距离四十步左右的松林空地的两边。决斗者的证人们用步子量出距离，从他们站的地方，直至距离十步远拖着涅斯维茨基和杰尼索夫的两柄马刀表示界线的地方，在很潮湿的深深的积雪上留下了脚印。冰雪继续不断地消融，雾气不停地上升，四十步以外什么也望不清楚。莫约过了三分钟，一切都准备好了，但是他们还是迟迟没有开始。众人都默不作声。
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