'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. Natasha 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. Denisov had proposed. To whom? To this chit of a girl, Natasha, who not so long ago was playing with dolls and who was still having lessons.
'Don't, Natasha! What nonsense!' she said, hoping it was a joke.
'Nonsense, indeed! I am telling you the fact,' said Natasha indignantly. 'I come to ask you what to do, and you call it 'nonsense!''
The countess shrugged her shoulders.
'If it true that Monsieur Denisov has made you a proposal, tell him he is a fool, that's all!'
'No, he's not a fool!' replied Natasha 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 Natasha, 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 Natasha as grown up.
'No, not on any account! I will tell him myself, and you'll listen at the door,' and Natasha ran across the drawing room to the dancing hall, where Denisov 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.'
'Vasili Dmitrich, 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.'
Denisov 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.
'Vasili Dmitrich, I thank you for the honor,' she said, with an embarrassed voice, though it sounded severe to Denisov--'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 Denisov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face. He tried to say more, but faltered.
Natasha could not remain calm, seeing him in such a plight. She began to sob aloud.
'Countess, I have done w'ong,' Denisov 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 Natasha.
Next day Rostov saw Denisov off. He not wish to stay another day in Moscow. All Denisov'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.
