“Ah, how is it！ I’ve mixed it all up. There are such a lot of relatives in Moscow！ You are Boris … yes. Well, now, we have got it clear. Tell me, what do you think of the Boulogne expedition？ Things will go badly with the English, you know, if Napoleon gets across the Channel. I believe that the expedition is very possible. If only Villeneuve doesn’t make a mess of it！”
Boris knew nothing at all about the Boulogne expedition, and it was the first time he had heard of Villeneuve.
“Here in Moscow we are more interested in dinner parties and scandal than in politics,” he said in his self-possessed, sarcastic tone. “I know nothing and think nothing about it. Moscow’s more engrossed in scandal than anything,” he went on. “Just now they are all talking about you and about the count.”
Pierre smiled his kindly smile, as though afraid for his companion’s sake that he might say something he would regret. But Boris spoke distinctly, clearly and drily, looking straight into Pierre’s face.
“There’s nothing else to do in Moscow but talk scandal,” he went on. “Every one’s absorbed in the question whom the count will leave his fortune to, though perhaps he will outlive us all, as I sincerely hope he may.”
“Yes, all that’s very horrid,” Pierre interposed, “very horrid.” Pierre was still afraid this officer would inadvertently drop into some remark disconcerting for himself.
“And it must seem to you,” said Boris, flushing slightly, but not changing his voice or attitude, “it must seem to you that every one’s thinking of nothing but getting something from him.”
“That’s just it,” thought Pierre.
“And that’s just what I want to say to you to prevent misunderstandings, that you are very much mistaken if you reckon me and my mother among those people. We are very poor, but I—at least I speak for myself—just because your father is rich, I don’t consider myself a relation of his, and neither I nor my mother would ever ask him for anything or take anything from him.”
It was a long while before Pierre understood, but, when he did understand, he jumped up from the sofa, seized Boris’s hand with his characteristic quickness and awkwardness, and blushing far more than Boris, began speaking with a mixed sensation of shame and annoyance.
“Well, this is strange！ Do you suppose I … how you could think … I know very well …”
But Boris again interrupted him.
“I am glad I have told you everything frankly. Perhaps you dislike it： you must excuse me,” he said, trying to put Pierre at his ease instead of being put at his ease by him; “but I hope I have not offended you. I make it a rule to say everything quite plainly.… Then what message am I to take？ You will come to dinner at the Rostovs’？” And Boris, with an evident sense of having discharged an onerous duty, having extricated himself from an awkward position, and put somebody else into one became perfectly pleasant again.
“No, let me tell you,” said Pierre, regaining his composure, “you are a wonderful person. What you have just said was very fine, very fine. Of course you don’t know me, it’s so long since we’ve seen each other … we were children.… You might suppose I should … I understand, I quite understand. I shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have had the courage, but it’s splendid. I’m very glad I have made your acquaintance. A queer idea,” he added, pausing and smiling, “you must have had of me.” He laughed. “But what of it？ Let us know each other better, please！” He pressed Boris’s hand. “Do you know I’ve not once seen the count？ He has not sent for me … I am sorry for him, as a man … But what can one do？”
“And so you think Napoleon will succeed in getting his army across？” Boris queried, smiling.
Pierre saw that Boris was trying to change the conversation, and so he began explaining the advantages and difficulties of the Boulogne expedition.
A footman came in to summon Boris to the princess. The princess was going. Pierre promised to come to dinner in order to see more of Boris, and pressed his hand warmly at parting, looking affectionately into his face over his spectacles.
When he had gone, Pierre walked for some time longer up and down his room, not thrusting at an unseen foe, but smiling at the recollection of that charming, intelligent, and resolute young man.
As so often happens with young people, especially if they are in a position of loneliness, he felt an unreasonable tenderness for this youth, and he firmly resolved to become friends with him.
Prince Vassily accompanied the princess to the hall. The princess was holding her handkerchief to her eyes, and her face was tearful.
“It is terrible, terrible！” she said; “but whatever it costs me, I will do my duty. I will come to stay the night. He can’t be left like this. Every minute is precious. I can’t understand why his nieces put it off. Maybe God will help me to find a way to prepare him. Adieu, prince, may God support you …”
“Adieu, my kind friend,” answered Prince Vassily, turning away from her.
“Oh, he is in an awful position！” said the mother to her son, when they were sitting in the carriage again. “He scarcely knows any one.”
“I don’t understand, mamma, what his attitude is as regards Pierre.”
“The will will make all that plain, my dear; our fate, too, hangs upon it.…”
“But what makes you think he will leave us anything？”
“Oh, my dear！ He is so rich, and we are so poor.”
“Well, that’s hardly a sufficient reason, mamma.”
“Oh, my God, how ill he is, how ill he is！” cried his mother.
