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"
You
'd
better
wait
till
she
's
married
...
"
"
You
know
,
I
adore
little
girls
,
they
lose
their
heads
at
once
,
"
pursued
Anatole
.
"
You
have
been
caught
once
already
by
a
'
little
girl
,
"'
said
Dólokhov
who
knew
of
Kurágin
's
marriage
.
"
Take
care
!
"
"
Well
,
that
ca
n't
happen
twice
!
Eh
?
"
said
Anatole
,
with
a
good-humored
laugh
.
The
day
after
the
opera
the
Rostóvs
went
nowhere
and
nobody
came
to
see
them
.
Márya
Dmítrievna
talked
to
the
count
about
something
which
they
concealed
from
Natásha
.
Natásha
guessed
they
were
talking
about
the
old
prince
and
planning
something
,
and
this
disquieted
and
offended
her
.
She
was
expecting
Prince
Andrew
any
moment
and
twice
that
day
sent
a
manservant
to
the
Vozdvízhenka
to
ascertain
whether
he
had
come
.
He
had
not
arrived
.
She
suffered
more
now
than
during
her
first
days
in
Moscow
.
To
her
impatience
and
pining
for
him
were
now
added
the
unpleasant
recollection
of
her
interview
with
Princess
Mary
and
the
old
prince
,
and
a
fear
and
anxiety
of
which
she
did
not
understand
the
cause
.
She
continually
fancied
that
either
he
would
never
come
or
that
something
would
happen
to
her
before
he
came
.
She
could
no
longer
think
of
him
by
herself
calmly
and
continuously
as
she
had
done
before
.
As
soon
as
she
began
to
think
of
him
,
the
recollection
of
the
old
prince
,
of
Princess
Mary
,
of
the
theater
,
and
of
Kurágin
mingled
with
her
thoughts
.
The
question
again
presented
itself
whether
she
was
not
guilty
,
whether
she
had
not
already
broken
faith
with
Prince
Andrew
,
and
again
she
found
herself
recalling
to
the
minutest
detail
every
word
,
every
gesture
,
and
every
shade
in
the
play
of
expression
on
the
face
of
the
man
who
had
been
able
to
arouse
in
her
such
an
incomprehensible
and
terrifying
feeling
.
To
the
family
Natásha
seemed
livelier
than
usual
,
but
she
was
far
less
tranquil
and
happy
than
before
.
On
Sunday
morning
Márya
Dmítrievna
invited
her
visitors
to
Mass
at
her
parish
church
--
the
Church
of
the
Assumption
built
over
the
graves
of
victims
of
the
plague
.
"
I
do
n't
like
those
fashionable
churches
,
"
she
said
,
evidently
priding
herself
on
her
independence
of
thought
.
"
God
is
the
same
everywhere
.
We
have
an
excellent
priest
,
he
conducts
the
service
decently
and
with
dignity
,
and
the
deacon
is
the
same
.
What
holiness
is
there
in
giving
concerts
in
the
choir
?
I
do
n't
like
it
,
it
's
just
self-indulgence
!
"
Márya
Dmítrievna
liked
Sundays
and
knew
how
to
keep
them
.
Her
whole
house
was
scrubbed
and
cleaned
on
Saturdays
;
neither
she
nor
the
servants
worked
,
and
they
all
wore
holiday
dress
and
went
to
church
.
At
her
table
there
were
extra
dishes
at
dinner
,
and
the
servants
had
vodka
and
roast
goose
or
suckling
pig
.
But
in
nothing
in
the
house
was
the
holiday
so
noticeable
as
in
Márya
Dmítrievna
's
broad
,
stern
face
,
which
on
that
day
wore
an
invariable
look
of
solemn
festivity
.
After
Mass
,
when
they
had
finished
their
coffee
in
the
dining
room
where
the
loose
covers
had
been
removed
from
the
furniture
,
a
servant
announced
that
the
carriage
was
ready
,
and
Márya
Dmítrievna
rose
with
a
stern
air
.
She
wore
her
holiday
shawl
,
in
which
she
paid
calls
,
and
announced
that
she
was
going
to
see
Prince
Nicholas
Bolkónski
to
have
an
explanation
with
him
about
Natásha
.
After
she
had
gone
,
a
dressmaker
from
Madame
Suppert-Roguet
waited
on
the
Rostóvs
,
and
Natásha
,
very
glad
of
this
diversion
,
having
shut
herself
into
a
room
adjoining
the
drawing
room
,
occupied
herself
trying
on
the
new
dresses
.
