Book 3 Chapter 4

WHEN PRINCESS MARYA went into the room, Prince Vassily and his son were already in the drawing-room, talking to the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne. When she walked in with her heavy step, treading on her heels, the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose, and the little princess, with a gesture indicating her to the gentlemen, said: “Here is Marie!” Princess Marya saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw the face of Prince Vassily, growing serious for an instant at the sight of her, and then hastily smiling, and the face of the little princess, scanning the faces of the guests with curiosity to detect the impression Marie was making on them. She saw Mademoiselle Bourienne, too, with her ribbon and her pretty face, turned towards him with a look of more eagerness than she had ever seen on it. But him she could not see, she could only see something large, bright-coloured, and handsome moving towards her, as she entered the room. Prince Vassily approached her first; and she kissed his bald head, as he bent over to kiss her hand, and in reply to his words said, that on the contrary, she remembered him very well. Then Anatole went up to her. She still could not see him. She only felt a soft hand taking her hand firmly, and she touched with her lips a white forehead, over which there was beautiful fair hair, smelling of pomade. When she glanced at him, she was impressed by his beauty. Anatole was standing with the thumb of his right hand at a button of his uniform, his chest squared and his spine arched; swinging one foot, with his head a little on one side, he was gazing in silence with a beaming face on the princess, obviously not thinking of her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, he was not ready, not eloquent in conversation, but he had that faculty, so invaluable for social purposes, of composure and imperturbable assurance. If a man of no self-confidence is dumb at first making acquaintance, and betrays a consciousness of the impropriety of this dumbness and an anxiety to find something to say, the effect will be bad. But Anatole was dumb and swung his leg, as he watched the princess's hair with a radiant face. It was clear that he could be silent with the same serenity for a very long while. “If anybody feels silence awkward, let him talk, but I don't care about it,” his demeanour seemed to say. Moreover, in his manner to women, Anatole had that air, which does more than anything else to excite curiosity, awe, and even love in women, the air of supercilious consciousness of his own superiority. His manner seemed to say to them: “I know you, I know, but why trouble my head about you? You'd be pleased enough, of course!” Possibly he did not think this on meeting women (it is probable, indeed, that he did not, for he thought very little at any time), but that was the effect of his air and his manner. Princess Marya felt it, and as though to show him she did not even venture to think of inviting his attention, she turned to his father. The conversation was general and animated, thanks to the voice and the little downy lip, that flew up and down over the white teeth of the little princess. She met Prince Vassily in that playful tone so often adopted by chatty and lively persons, the point of which consists in the assumption that there exists a sort of long-established series of jokes and amusing, partly private, humorous reminiscences between the persons so addressed and oneself, even when no such reminiscences are really shared, as indeed was the case with Prince Vassily and the little princess. Prince Vassily readily fell in with this tone, the little princess embellished their supposed common reminiscences with all sorts of droll incidents that had never occurred, and drew Anatole too into them, though she had scarcely known him. Mademoiselle Bourienne too succeeded in taking a part in them, and even Princess Marya felt with pleasure that she was being made to share in their gaiety.

“Well, anyway, we shall take advantage of you to the utmost now we have got you, dear prince,” said the little princess, in French, of course, to Prince Vassily. “Here it is not as it used to be at our evenings at Annette's, where you always ran away. Do you remember our dear Annette?”

“Ah yes, but then you mustn't talk to me about politics, like Annette!”

“And our little tea-table?”

“Oh yes!”

“Why is it you never used to be at Annette's?” the little princess asked of Anatole. “Ah, I know, I know,” she said, winking; “your brother, Ippolit, has told me tales of your doings. Oh!” She shook her finger at him. “I know about your exploits in Paris too!”

“But he, Ippolit, didn't tell you, did he?” said Prince Vassily (addressing his son and taking the little princess by the arm, as though she would have run away and he were just in time to catch her); “he didn't tell you how he, Ippolit himself, was breaking his heart over our sweet princess, and how she turned him out of doors.”

“Oh! she is the pearl of women, princess,” he said, addressing Princess Marya. Mademoiselle Bourienne on her side, at the mention of Paris, did not let her chance slip for taking a share in the common stock of recollections.

She ventured to inquire if it were long since Anatole was in Paris, and how he had liked that city. Anatole very readily answered the Frenchwoman, and smiling and staring at her, he talked to her about her native country. At first sight of the pretty Mademoiselle, Anatole had decided that even here at Bleak Hills he should not be dull. “Not half bad-looking,” he thought, scrutinising her, “she's not half bad-looking, that companion! I hope she'll bring her along when we're married,” he mused; “she is a nice little thing.”

The old prince was dressing deliberately in his room, scowling and ruminating on what he was to do. The arrival of these visitors angered him. “What's Prince Vassily to me, he and his son? Prince Vassily is a braggart, an empty-headed fool, and a nice fellow the son is, I expect,” he growled to himself. What angered him was that this visit revived in his mind the unsettled question, continually thrust aside, the question in regard to which the old prince always deceived himself. That question was whether he would ever bring himself to part with his daughter and give her to a husband. The prince could never bring himself to put this question directly to himself, knowing beforehand that if he did he would have to answer it justly, but against justice in this case was ranged more than feeling, the very possibility of life. Life without Princess Marya was unthinkable to the old prince, little as in appearance he prized her. “And what is she to be married for?” he thought; “to be unhappy, beyond a doubt. Look at Liza with Andrey (and a better husband, I should fancy, it would be difficult to find nowadays), but she's not satisfied with her lot.

And who would marry her for love? She's plain and ungraceful. She'd be married for her connections, her wealth. And don't old maids get on well enough? They are happier really!” So Prince Nikolay Andreivitch mused, as he dressed, yet the question constantly deferred demanded an immediate decision. Prince Vassily had brought his son obviously with the intention of making an offer, and probably that day or the next he would ask for a direct answer. The name, the position in the world, was suitable. “Well, I'm not against it,” the prince kept saying to himself, “only let him be worthy of her. That's what we shall see. That's what we shall see,” he said aloud, “that's what we shall see,” and with his usual alert step he walked into the drawing-room, taking in the whole company in a rapid glance. He noticed the change in the dress of the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, and the hideous way in which Princess Marya's hair was done, and the smiles of the Frenchwoman and Anatole, and the isolation of his daughter in the general talk. “She's decked herself out like a fool!” he thought, glancing vindictively at his daughter. “No shame in her; while he doesn't care to speak to her!”

He went up to Prince Vassily.

“Well, how d'ye do, how d'ye do, glad to see you.”

“For a friend that one loves seven versts is close by,” said Prince Vassily, quoting the Russian proverb, and speaking in his usual rapid, self-confident, and familiar tone. “This is my second, I beg you to love him and welcome him, as they say.”

Prince Nikolay Andreivitch scrutinised Anatole.

“A fine fellow, a fine fellow!” he said. “Well, come and give me a kiss,” and he offered him his cheek. Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity and perfect composure, waiting for some instance of the eccentricity his father had told him to expect.

The old prince sat down in his customary place in the corner of the sofa, moved up an armchair for Prince Vassily, pointed to it, and began questioning him about political affairs and news. He seemed to be listening with attention to what Prince Vassily was saying, but glanced continually at Princess Marya.

“So they're writing from Potsdam already?” He repeated Prince Vassily's last words, and suddenly getting up, he went up to his daughter.

“So it was for visitors you dressed yourself up like this, eh?” he said. “Nice of you, very nice. You do your hair up in some new fashion before visitors, and before visitors, I tell you, never dare in future to change your dress without my leave.”

“It was my fault…” stammered the little princess, flushing.

“You are quite at liberty,” said the old prince, with a scrape before his daughter-in-law, “but she has no need to disfigure herself—she's ugly enough without that.” And he sat down again in his place, taking no further notice of his daughter, whom he had reduced to tears.

“On the contrary, that coiffure is extremely becoming to the princess,” said Prince Vassily.

“Well, my young prince, what's your name?” said the old prince, turning to Anatole. “Come here, let us talk to you a little and make your acquaintance.”

“Now the fun's beginning,” thought Anatole, and with a smile he sat down by the old prince.

“That's it; they tell me, my dear boy, you have been educated abroad. Not taught to read and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Tell me, are you serving now in the Horse Guards?” asked the old man, looking closely and intently at Anatole.

“No, I have transferred into the line,” answered Anatole, with difficulty restraining his laughter.

“Ah! a good thing. So you want to serve your Tsar and your country, do you? These are times of war. Such a fine young fellow ought to be on service, he ought to be on service. Ordered to the front, eh?”

“No, prince, our regiment has gone to the front. But I'm attached. What is it I'm attached to, papa?” Anatole turned to his father with a laugh.

“He is a credit to the service, a credit. What is it I'm attached to! Ha-ha-ha!” laughed the old prince, and Anatole laughed still louder. Suddenly the old prince frowned. “Well, you can go,” he said to Anatole. With a smile Anatole returned to the ladies.

“So you had him educated abroad, Prince Vassily? Eh?” said the old prince to Prince Vassily.

“I did what I could, and I assure you the education there is far better than ours.”

“Yes, nowadays everything's different, everything's new-fashioned. A fine fellow! a fine fellow! Well, come to my room.” He took Prince Vassily's arm and led him away to his study.

Left alone with the old prince, Prince Vassily promptly made known to him his wishes and his hopes.

“Why, do you imagine,” said the old prince wrathfully, “that I keep her, that I can't part with her? What an idea!” he protested angrily. “I am ready for it to-morrow! Only, I tell you, I want to know my future son-in-law better. You know my principles: everything open! To-morrow I will ask her in your presence; if she wishes it, let him stay on. Let him stay on, and I'll see.” The prince snorted. “Let her marry, it's nothing to me,” he screamed in the piercing voice in which he had screamed at saying good-bye to his son.

“I will be frank with you,” said Prince Vassily in the tone of a crafty man, who is convinced of the uselessness of being crafty with so penetrating a companion. “You see right through people, I know. Anatole is not a genius, but a straightforward, good-hearted lad, good as a son or a kinsman.”

“Well, well, very good, we shall see.”

As is always the case with women who have for a long while been living a secluded life apart from masculine society, on the appearance of Anatole on the scene, all the three women in Prince Nikolay Andreivitch's house felt alike that their life had not been real life till then. Their powers of thought, of feeling, of observation, were instantly redoubled. It seemed as though their life had till then been passed in darkness, and was all at once lighted up by a new brightness that was full of significance.

Princess Marya did not remember her face and her coiffure. The handsome, open face of the man who might, perhaps, become her husband, absorbed her whole attention. She thought him kind, brave, resolute, manly, and magnanimous. She was convinced of all that. Thousands of dreams of her future married life were continually floating into her imagination. She drove them away and tried to disguise them.

“But am I not too cold with him?” thought Princess Marya. “I try to check myself, because at the bottom of my heart I feel myself too close to him. But of course he doesn't know all I think of him, and may imagine I don't like him.”

And she tried and knew not how to be cordial to him.

“The poor girl is devilish ugly,” Anatole was thinking about her.

Mademoiselle Bourienne, who had also been thrown by Anatole's arrival into a high state of excitement, was absorbed in reflections of a different order. Naturally, a beautiful young girl with no defined position in society, without friends or relations, without even a country of her own, did not look forward to devoting her life to waiting on Prince Nikolay Andreivitch, to reading him books and being a friend to Princess Marya. Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been looking forward to the Russian prince, who would have the discrimination to discern her superiority to the ugly, badly dressed, ungainly Russian princesses—who would fall in love with her and bear her away. And now this Russian prince at last had come. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew a story she had heard from her aunt, and had finished to her own taste, which she loved to go over in her own imagination. It was the story of how a girl had been seduced, and her poor mother (sa pauvre mère) had appeared to her and reproached her for yielding to a man's allurements without marriage. Mademoiselle was often touched to tears, as in imagination she told “him,” her seducer, this tale. Now this “he,” a real Russian prince, had appeared. He would elope with her, then “my poor mother” would come on the scene, and he would marry her. This was how all her future history shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's brain at the very moment when she was talking to him of Paris. Mademoiselle Bourienne was not guided by calculations (she did not even consider for one instant what she would do), but it had all been ready within her long before, and now it all centred about Anatole as soon as he appeared, and she wished and tried to attract him as much as possible.

The little princess, like an old warhorse hearing the blast of the trumpet, was prepared to gallop off into a flirtation as her habit was, unconsciously forgetting her position, with no ulterior motive, no struggle, nothing but simple-hearted, frivolous gaiety in her heart.

Although in feminine society Anatole habitually took up the attitude of a man weary of the attentions of women, his vanity was agreeably flattered by the spectacle of the effect he produced on these three women. Moreover, he was beginning to feel towards the pretty and provocative Mademoiselle Bourienne that violent, animal feeling, which was apt to come upon him with extreme rapidity, and to impel him to the coarsest and most reckless actions.

After tea the party moved into the divan-room, and Princess Marya was asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole leaned on his elbow facing her, and near Mademoiselle Bourienne, and his eyes were fixed on Princess Marya, full of laughter and glee. Princess Marya felt his eyes upon her with troubled and joyful agitation. Her favourite sonata bore her away to a world of soul-felt poetry, and the feeling of his eyes upon her added still more poetry to that world. The look in Anatole's eyes, though they were indeed fixed upon her, had reference not to her, but to the movements of Mademoiselle's little foot, which he was at that very time touching with his own under the piano. Mademoiselle Bourienne too was gazing at Princess Marya, and in her fine eyes, too, there was an expression of frightened joy and hope that was new to the princess.

“How she loves me!” thought Princess Marya. “How happy I am now and how happy I may be with such a friend and such a husband! Can he possibly be my husband?” she thought, not daring to glance at his face, but still feeling his eyes fastened upon her.

When the party broke up after supper, Anatole kissed Princess Marya's hand. She was herself at a loss to know how she had the hardihood, but she looked straight with her short-sighted eyes at the handsome face as it came close to her. After the princess, he bent over the hand of Mademoiselle Bourienne (it was a breach of etiquette, but he did everything with the same ease and simplicity) and Mademoiselle Bourienne crimsoned and glanced in dismay at the princess.

“Quelle délicatesse!” thought Princess Marya. “Can Amélie” (Mademoiselle's name) “suppose I could be jealous of her, and fail to appreciate her tenderness and devotion to me?” She went up to Mademoiselle Bourienne and kissed her warmly. Anatole went to the little princess.

“No, no, no! When your father writes me word that you are behaving well, I will give you my hand to kiss.” And shaking her little finger at him, she went smiling out of the room.

当公爵玛丽亚小姐走进屋里来的时候，瓦西里公爵和他的儿子已经呆在客厅里了，他们父子正跟矮小的公爵夫人和布里安小姐交谈。当她踮着后跟、拖着沉重的脚步走进来的时候，男人们和布里安小姐都欠起身子，矮小的公爵夫人在男人们面前指着她，说道：“VoilàMarie！”①公爵小姐玛丽亚看见众人，她看得非常仔细。她看见瓦西里公爵的面孔，在他看见她的时候，他脸上有一阵子显得严肃，但立即微微一笑。她还看见矮小的公爵夫人的面庞，公爵夫人怀着好奇的心情从客人们的脸上观察到玛丽给客人们造成的印象。她看见布里安小姐系着绸带，面容俊俏，把她那前所未有的兴奋的目光集中在他身上；但是公爵小姐没法看见他，她所看见的只是一个耀眼而漂亮的大块头，正当她走进来时向她身边靠拢。瓦西里公爵先走到她身边，她在他弯下腰来吻吻她的手的时候，吻了吻他的秃头，对他问的话作了回答，说她非但没有把他忘却，反而记得一清二楚。后来阿纳托利走到她跟前。她还没有望见他。她只感觉到一只温柔的手用力地握住她的手，她轻轻地碰了碰他那洁白的前额，额头上的淡褐色的秀发抹上了一层发蜡。当她望望他的时候，他的俊美的相貌使她大为惊讶。阿纳托利把右手的大拇指夹在制服钮扣后面，胸部向前挺起，背脊向后微倾，摇晃着一只伸出的腿，略微垂下头，默不作声，快活地望着公爵小姐，他显然完全没有去想她。阿纳托利在言谈方面并不机智，也不能言善辩，但是他倒具有交际场中认为可贵的那种泰然自若和以不变应万变的自信的本能。一个缺乏自信心的人初次与人结识时如果不作声，而又意识到沉默很不体面，想随便说说，那末，到头来一定不妙。但是阿纳托利沉默不言，摇晃着他的一条腿，喜悦地观赏公爵小姐的发型。可以看出，他能够这样久久地保持镇静和沉默。“假如这种沉默会使谁觉得很不自在，那就让他开腔吧，我可不愿意说话。”他那副模样仿佛这样说。除此而外，在与女人交往方面，阿纳托利具有一种轻视一切、凌驾于他人之上的派头。他这种派头最容易引起女人的好奇、恐惧、甚至爱慕。他那副模样仿佛在对她们说：“我知道你们，我知道，干嘛要跟你们打交道？你们可真会高兴极了！”也许他遇见女人时并没有想到这一点（十之八九他没有这种思想，因为他很少动脑筋思考），可是他竟有这样的神态，这样的派头。公爵小姐已经有了这种感觉，她仿佛要向他表白，她并没有想把他迷住的勇气，于是向老公爵转过脸去。大家都兴致勃勃地谈着一般的话题，这多亏矮小的公爵夫人的动听的嗓音和她那翘在洁白的牙齿外面的长着茸毛的小嘴唇，她用爱说话的快活人常用的戏谑方式接待瓦西里公爵，使用这种方式的先决条件是，交谈者之间具有一套早已定型的笑话，以及令人愉快的不为尽人皆知的可笑的回忆，而在事实上这种回忆是没有的，矮小的公爵夫人和瓦西里公爵之间也没有这样的回忆。瓦西里公爵心甘情愿地听从这种腔调的摆布，矮小的公爵夫人也引诱庶几不认识的阿纳托利来回忆一些从未发生的滑稽可笑的事情。布里安小姐也一同回忆这些虚构的往事，就连公爵小姐玛丽亚也高兴地感觉到她自己已被卷入这些令人愉快的回忆中了。

①法语：这就是玛丽。

“您看，亲爱的公爵，我们现在至少要充分地享受您带来的欢乐，”矮小的公爵夫人对瓦西里公爵说，不言而喻，是用法国话说的，“这可不会像在安内特家中举办的晚会上那样了，您在那里总是溜之大吉，您还记得cettechereAnBnette！”①

“哎，您不要像安内特那样对我谈论政治啊！”

“可是，我们那张茶几呢？”

“噢，是的！”

“您干嘛从来不到安内特那里去呢？”矮小的公爵夫人向阿纳托利问道。“啊，我知道，我知道，”她使个眼色，说着，“您哥哥伊波利特把您的事讲给我听了。噢！”她伸出指头来威吓他。“我还知道您在巴黎闹的恶作剧啊！”

“而他——伊波利特没有告诉你吗？”瓦西里公爵说道（把脸转向儿子，一把抓住公爵夫人的手），仿佛她想溜掉，仿佛她想溜掉，他差点儿没有把她留住似的，“他却没有告诉你，他自己——伊波利特，想这个可爱的公爵夫人想得苦恼不堪，而她lemettaitlaote？”②”？

“Oh！C'estlaperledesfemmes，princesse！”③他把脸转向公爵小姐说道。

①法语：这个可爱的安内特吧。

②法语：把他赶出家门了。

③法语：公爵小姐，咳，这是妇女中的一个最可贵的人。

布里安小姐一听到巴黎这个词，就不放过机会，也参与大家回忆往事的谈话。

她竟敢问到阿纳托利是不是离开巴黎很久了，他喜不喜欢这个城市。阿纳托利很乐意地回答这个法国女人提出的问题，他面露微笑地打量着她。和她谈论有关她祖国的情形。阿纳托利看见貌美的布里安小姐之后，心中就断定，童山这个地方是不会令人感到寂寞的。“长得很不错！”他一面想道，一面望着她。“这个demoiselledécompagnie①长得很不错。我希望在她嫁给我时，把她带到身边来，”他想了想，“lapetiteestgentille。”②

①法语：女伴。

②法语：长得很不错，很不错。

老公爵在书斋里不慌不忙地穿上衣服，蹙起额角，周密地考虑他要怎样对付。这些客人的到来使他恼怒了。“瓦西里公爵和他的爱子与我何干？瓦西里公爵是个胸无点墨的吹牛家，儿子，得啦，未必能成材。”他暗自唠叨地说。惹他生气的是，这些客人的到来在他心灵中掀起一个悬而未决的经常搁置的问题，即是老公爵一贯自我欺骗的那个问题。这个问题就在于，他是否有决心在某个时候和公爵小姐玛丽亚断绝来往，让她出阁。公爵从来下不了决心向自己直截了当地提出这个问题，因为他事先知道，他会公平合理地回答这个问题，而公平合理的做法和他的感情相抵触，尤其是和他的谋生的才能相抵触。虽然他似乎不太珍惜公爵小姐玛丽亚，但是缺乏她，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵的生活是不可思议的。

“她为什么要嫁人呢？”他想，“想必是个不幸的女人。你看，丽莎嫁给安德烈（目下似乎很难找到更好的丈夫），她满意她自己的命运么？谁会出于爱慕而娶她为妻呢？她长得难看，又笨拙。有人准会为了关系和财富而娶她为妻的。难道就不能继续过处女生活吗？那更幸福啊！”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵一面穿衣服，一面这么想。可是那个束之高阁的问题却要求立刻加以解决。瓦西里公爵把他的儿子带来了，很明显是有求婚的打算，也许就是今天或明天要求率直的回答。名望和社会地位还不错。“好吧，我就不反对，”老公爵喃喃自语地说，“但愿他配得上她。我们要看的正是这一层。”

“我们要看的正是这一层，”他大声地说，“我们要看的正是这一层。”

他像平日那样，迈着矫健的脚步走进客厅，飞快地向众人扫了一眼，他看见矮小的公爵夫人的一件换了的连衣裙、布里安系着的绸带、玛丽亚公爵小姐的难看的发式、布里安和阿纳托利流露的微笑、他自己的公爵小姐在众人谈话中的孤独。“她打扮得像个蠢货！”他愤恨地朝女儿瞟了一眼，心里想了想，“毫无廉耻！他根本不想和她交往！”

他走到瓦西里公爵面前。

“啊，你好，你好，看见你，我真高兴。”

“为了看看好朋友，多绕七里路也不嫌远，”瓦西里公爵开口说道，像平常那样，他说得很快，充满自信，而且亲切。

“这是我的第二个儿子，请您垂爱照拂。”

尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵望了望阿纳托利。

“好样的，好样的！”他说道，“喂，你来吻吻我吧。”他于是向他伸出面颊。

阿纳托利吻了吻老头，好奇地、十分冷静地望着他，等待着，看他父亲的怪脾气会不会马上发作。

尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵坐在他平常坐的长沙发角上，替瓦西里公爵把安乐椅移到自己身边，指了指安乐椅，便开始询问政治事件和新闻。他仿佛聚精会神地聆听瓦西里公爵的讲话，但又不停地注视公爵小姐玛丽亚。

“这么说，是从波茨坦写来的信吗？”他重复瓦西里公爵最后说的一句话，忽然站立起来，走到他女儿面前。

“你为客人们才这样打扮，是吗？”他说道，“好看，很好看。客人们在场，看见你梳个新颖的发式，我却要在客人面前告诉你，未经我许可，你以后不得擅自改变衣着。”

“monpeve，①这是我的罪过。”矮小的公爵夫人面红耳赤，为她鸣不平。

①法语：爸爸。

“随您的便，”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵说道，在儿媳妇面前并足致礼，“她用不着丑化自己，本来就够丑的了。”

他又坐到原来的位子上，不再去理会给惹得双眼流泪的女儿。

“对公爵小姐来说，这个发式倒是很合适的。”瓦西里公爵说道。

“啊，老兄，年轻的公爵叫什么名字？”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇把脸转向阿纳托利，说道，“请到这里来，我们谈谈，认识一下。”

“是开始娱乐的时候了。”阿纳托利想了想，面露微笑，在老公爵身边坐下来。

“听我说，我亲爱的，据说您是在国外接受教育的。我和您父亲不一样，教我们识字的是个教堂的执事。我亲爱的，请您说给我听，您今儿在骑兵近卫军供职吗？”老头子靠近阿纳托利，目不转睛地望着他，问道。

“不，我已经调到陆军来了。”阿纳托利答道，勉强忍住了，没有笑出声来。

“啊！这是件好事。我亲爱的，怎么样？您愿意为沙皇和祖国效劳吗？目前是战争时期。这样一个英俊的小伙子应当服役，应当服役。上前线，怎样？”

“不，公爵。我们的兵团出动了。可我只是挂个名。爸爸，我在哪个编制内挂名呀？”阿纳托利放声大笑，把脸转向父亲，说道。

“干得挺不错，挺不错。我在哪个编制内挂名呀！哈——

哈——哈！”尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵笑了起来。

阿纳托利的笑声更响亮。尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵忽然皱起了眉头。

“也好，你去吧。”他对阿纳托利说。

阿纳托利含着笑意又走到女士们跟前。

“瓦西里公爵，要知道你是在国外培养他们的，是吗？”老公爵把脸转向瓦西里公爵时，说道。

“当时我尽力而为，我告诉您，那里的教育比我们的教育办得好得多。”

“是啊，现在什么都不一样了，什么都要按新方式来办理。

英俊的小伙子，棒小伙子！喂，到我那里去吧。”

他挽着瓦西里公爵的手，把他领进了书斋。

瓦西里公爵和老公爵单独留下来之后，他马上向他表明自己的意向和希望。

“你竟以为，”老公爵气忿地说，“我把她留在身边，不能和她断绝往来吗？有人会这样想象！”他怒气冲冲地说。“即令是明天分手我也不在乎！我告诉你的只是，我要熟悉女婿的情形。你知道我的规矩：一切都直言不讳！我明日在你面前来问问，只要她愿意，就让他多住些日子。让他多住些日子，我看个究竟。”公爵气呼呼地说。“让她嫁出去，我横竖一样。”他用他和儿子离别时常用的刺耳的嗓音喊道。

“我率直地告诉您，”瓦西里公爵说道，那腔调就像一个狡猾的人确信他在交谈者的洞察之下用不着耍滑头似的。“您真是把人看透了。阿纳托利并不是天才，却是个诚实而善良的小伙子，挺好的儿子和亲人。”

“嗯，嗯，好的，我们以后看得出来。”

正如孤单的女人长期在缺少男伴的生活中常见的情形那样，阿纳托利一出现，尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵家中的三个女人都同样地感觉到，在这时以前她们的生活简直不是生活。她们的思考、感觉和洞察能力顿时增强了十倍，她们以前仿佛在黑暗中度过的生活忽然被那前所未有的充满现实意义的光辉照亮了。

公爵小姐玛丽亚根本不在思忖，也不记得她自己的面孔和发式。那个未来也许是她的丈夫的人的俊美而且显得坦率的面孔吸引着她的全部注意力。她仿佛觉得他很慈善、英勇、坚定、豁达，而且富有男子气概。她对这一点是坚信不疑的。千个未来家庭生活的幻影在她想象中不断地出现。她驱散这些幻影，极力把它们隐藏起来。

“不过我对他是不是太冷淡了？”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道，“我极力地克制自己，因为我在灵魂深处觉得自己和他太接近了，可是他真的不知道我对他有什么想法，他可能在想象中以为我很讨厌他。”

公爵小姐玛丽亚尽力地盛情招待新来的客人，可是她不在行。

“Lapauvrvefille！Elleestdiablementlaide，”①阿纳托利心中想着她。

①法语：可怜的女郎！长得像鬼一般丑陋。

阿纳托利的来临也使得布里安小姐极度兴奋，不过她的想法有所不同了。当然，这个年轻而貌美的女郎没有一定的社会地位，没有亲戚朋友，甚至没有自己的祖国，她不想献出她的一生去侍候尼古拉·安德烈伊奇公爵，替他朗读一本一本的书，并与公爵小姐玛丽亚结成知己。布里安小姐很早就在等待一个俄国公爵，这个俄国公爵立即看清她优越于那帮丑陋、衣着不美观、笨手笨脚的俄国公爵小姐，他必将钟情于她，并且将她带走。现在这个俄国公爵终于来到了。布里安小姐曾经听她姑母叙述一段故事，故事是由她亲自续完的，她喜欢在想象中重述这个故事。故事中提到一个受引诱的女郎，她那可怜的母亲（sapauvremère）在她眼前出现，责备她，因为她未经结婚就与一个男人发生性关系。布里安小姐在想象中给他——勾引者——叙述这段故事时，时常感动得双眼流泪。此刻这个他，真正的俄国公爵，出现了。他要将她带走，后来mapauvremère来了，他于是娶她为妻。当布里安小姐跟他谈论巴黎时，在她头脑中逐渐地形成她的未来的全部经历。不是有什么打算指引着布里安小姐（她甚至连一分钟也没有考虑她要怎么办），而是这一切早已在她心灵中酝酿成熟了，现在只须在眼前出现的阿纳托利周围加以集中起来，她希望他会喜欢她，而且尽可能地引起他的爱慕。

矮小的公爵夫人就像兵团的一匹老马似的，一听见号声，就不自觉地习惯于准备飞奔，她连自己怀孕的事也置之脑后，很快就卖弄起风骚来了，好在她别无用心，亦无内在的斗争，只是怀有一种轻浮而稚气的愉快情绪而已。

虽然阿纳托利在这帮女人中常使他自己处于那样一种地位，就像某人被女人追逐而觉得厌烦一样，但是他看见他对这三个女人已产生影响，于是感到虚荣心的满足。此外，他开始对这个俊俏而爱挑衅的布里安怀有一种狂热的兽性的感觉，这种感觉产生得异常神速，促使他采取最大胆的粗暴的行动。

饮茶完毕，这群人走进休息室，他们都请公爵小姐弹弹击弦古钢琴，阿纳托利靠近布里安小姐，他在公爵小姐玛丽亚面前支撑着臂肘，一对眼睛含着笑意，欢快地注视着她。公爵小姐玛丽亚怀着痛楚、喜悦而又激动的心情，觉察到向她投射的目光。一支她所喜爱的奏鸣曲把她带进沁人肺腑的诗的领域，而那个被她觉察到的向她投射的目光，却给这个领域增添了更多的诗情。但是阿纳托利的视线虽说是集中在她身上，被注意的却不是她，而是布里安小姐那只小脚的动作，他正用他的一只脚在击弦古钢琴下面碰碰她的那只小脚。布里安小姐也瞅着公爵小姐，公爵小姐玛丽亚在她那对美丽的眸子里觉察到也有一种前所未有的惊喜而又充满希望的表情。

“她多么爱我！”公爵小姐玛丽亚想道。“现在我多么幸福，我有这样一个朋友和这样一个丈夫会是多么幸福！难道他会成为丈夫吗？”她想道，却不敢朝他脸上望一眼，老是觉察到那种凝视她的目光。

夜晚，晚饭后大家开始四散的时候，阿纳托利吻了吻公爵小姐的手。她自己并不知道，她怎么能够鼓足勇气，直勾勾地望望凑近她那对近视眼的美丽的面孔。他从公爵小姐身边走开后，又前去吻吻布里安小姐的手（这是不够体面的，但他却随便而又自信地这样做了），布里安小姐涨红了脸，惊恐地瞧瞧公爵小姐。

“Quelledelicatesse，”①公爵小姐想了想。“难道阿梅莉（有人这样称呼布里安小姐）以为，我会吃她的醋，就不去赏识她对我的纯洁的温情和忠诚吗？”她走到布里安小姐面前，使劲地吻吻她。阿纳托利向前走去吻吻矮小的公爵夫人的手。

“Non，non，non！Quandvotrepèrem'écriraque

vousvousconduisezbien，jevousdonneraimamainàbaiser，Pasavant。”②

①法语：多么和蔼可亲。

②法语：不，不，不！当您父亲写信告诉我，说您表现得蛮好，我才让您吻吻我的手。先吻就不行。

她向上伸出指头，微露笑容，从房里走出去了。