Bab Bab 84 · 第84章

It was long since Rostóv had felt such enjoyment from music as he

did that day. But no sooner had Natásha finished her barcarolle than

reality again presented itself. He got up without saying a word and went

downstairs to his own room. A quarter of an hour later the old count

came in from his club, cheerful and contented. Nicholas, hearing him

drive up, went to meet him.

“Well—had a good time?” said the old count, smiling gaily and

proudly at his son.

Nicholas tried to say “Yes,” but could not: and he nearly burst into

sobs. The count was lighting his pipe and did not notice his son’s

condition.

“Ah, it can’t be avoided!” thought Nicholas, for the first and

last time. And suddenly, in the most casual tone, which made him feel

ashamed of himself, he said, as if merely asking his father to let him

have the carriage to drive to town:

“Papa, I have come on a matter of business. I was nearly forgetting. I

need some money.”

“Dear me!” said his father, who was in a specially good humor. “I

told you it would not be enough. How much?”

“Very much,” said Nicholas flushing, and with a stupid careless

smile, for which he was long unable to forgive himself, “I have lost a

little, I mean a good deal, a great deal—forty three thousand.”

“What! To whom?... Nonsense!” cried the count, suddenly reddening

with an apoplectic flush over neck and nape as old people do.

“I promised to pay tomorrow,” said Nicholas.

“Well!...” said the old count, spreading out his arms and sinking

helplessly on the sofa.

“It can’t be helped! It happens to everyone!” said the son, with

a bold, free, and easy tone, while in his soul he regarded himself as a

worthless scoundrel whose whole life could not atone for his crime. He

longed to kiss his father’s hands and kneel to beg his forgiveness,

but said, in a careless and even rude voice, that it happens to

everyone!

The old count cast down his eyes on hearing his son’s words and began

bustlingly searching for something.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered, “it will be difficult, I fear, difficult

to raise... happens to everybody! Yes, who has not done it?”

And with a furtive glance at his son’s face, the count went out of the

room.... Nicholas had been prepared for resistance, but had not at all

expected this.

“Papa! Pa-pa!” he called after him, sobbing, “forgive me!” And

seizing his father’s hand, he pressed it to his lips and burst into

tears.

While father and son were having their explanation, the mother and

daughter were having one not less important. Natásha came running to

her mother, quite excited.

“Mamma!... Mamma!... He has made me...”

“Made what?”

“Made, made me an offer, Mamma! Mamma!” she exclaimed.

The countess did not believe her ears. Denísov had proposed. To whom?

To this chit of a girl, Natásha, who not so long ago was playing with

dolls and who was still having lessons.

“Don’t, Natásha! What nonsense!” she said, hoping it was a joke.

“Nonsense, indeed! I am telling you the fact,” said Natásha

indignantly. “I come to ask you what to do, and you call it

‘nonsense!’”

The countess shrugged her shoulders.

“If it is true that Monsieur Denísov has made you a proposal, tell

him he is a fool, that’s all!”

“No, he’s not a fool!” replied Natásha indignantly and seriously.

“Well then, what do you want? You’re all in love nowadays. Well,

if you are in love, marry him!” said the countess, with a laugh of

annoyance. “Good luck to you!”

“No, Mamma, I’m not in love with him, I suppose I’m not in love

with him.”

“Well then, tell him so.”

“Mamma, are you cross? Don’t be cross, dear! Is it my fault?”

“No, but what is it, my dear? Do you want me to go and tell him?”

said the countess smiling.

“No, I will do it myself, only tell me what to say. It’s all very

well for you,” said Natásha, with a responsive smile. “You should

have seen how he said it! I know he did not mean to say it, but it came

out accidently.”

“Well, all the same, you must refuse him.”

“No, I mustn’t. I am so sorry for him! He’s so nice.”

“Well then, accept his offer. It’s high time for you to be

married,” answered the countess sharply and sarcastically.

“No, Mamma, but I’m so sorry for him. I don’t know how I’m to

say it.”

“And there’s nothing for you to say. I shall speak to him myself,”

said the countess, indignant that they should have dared to treat this

little Natásha as grown up.

“No, not on any account! I will tell him myself, and you’ll listen

at the door,” and Natásha ran across the drawing room to the dancing

hall, where Denísov was sitting on the same chair by the clavichord

with his face in his hands.

He jumped up at the sound of her light step.

“Nataly,” he said, moving with rapid steps toward her, “decide my

fate. It is in your hands.”

“Vasíli Dmítrich, I’m so sorry for you!... No, but you are so

nice... but it won’t do...not that... but as a friend, I shall always

love you.”

Denísov bent over her hand and she heard strange sounds she did not

understand. She kissed his rough curly black head. At this instant, they

heard the quick rustle of the countess’ dress. She came up to them.

“Vasíli Dmítrich, I thank you for the honor,” she said, with an

embarrassed voice, though it sounded severe to Denísov—“but my

daughter is so young, and I thought that, as my son’s friend, you

would have addressed yourself first to me. In that case you would not

have obliged me to give this refusal.”

“Countess...” said Denísov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face.

He tried to say more, but faltered.

Natásha could not remain calm, seeing him in such a plight. She began

to sob aloud.

“Countess, I have done w’ong,” Denísov went on in an unsteady

voice, “but believe me, I so adore your daughter and all your family

that I would give my life twice over...” He looked at the countess,

and seeing her severe face said: “Well, good-by, Countess,” and

kissing her hand, he left the room with quick resolute strides, without

looking at Natásha.

Next day Rostóv saw Denísov off. He did not wish to stay another

day in Moscow. All Denísov’s Moscow friends gave him a farewell

entertainment at the gypsies’, with the result that he had no

recollection of how he was put in the sleigh or of the first three

stages of his journey.

After Denísov’s departure, Rostóv spent another fortnight in Moscow,

without going out of the house, waiting for the money his father could

not at once raise, and he spent most of his time in the girls’ room.

Sónya was more tender and devoted to him than ever. It was as if she

wanted to show him that his losses were an achievement that made her

love him all the more, but Nicholas now considered himself unworthy of

her.

He filled the girls’ albums with verses and music, and having at last

sent Dólokhov the whole forty-three thousand rubles and received his

receipt, he left at the end of November, without taking leave of any of

his acquaintances, to overtake his regiment which was already in Poland.