while ladies in satin and ermine
cautiously descended the carriage steps which were let down for them
with a clatter, and then walked hurriedly and noiselessly over the baize
at the entrance.

Almost every time a new carriage drove up a whisper ran through the
crowd and caps were doffed.

"The Emperor?... No, a minister.... prince... ambassador. Don't you see
the plumes?..." was whispered among the crowd.

One person, better dressed than the rest, seemed to know everyone and
mentioned by name the greatest dignitaries of the day.

A third of the visitors had already arrived, but the Rostovs, who were
to be present, were still hurrying to get dressed.

There had been many discussions and preparations for this ball in the
Rostov family, many fears that the invitation would not arrive, that the
dresses would not be ready, or that something would not be arranged as
it should be.

Marya Ignatevna Peronskaya, a thin and shallow maid of honor at the
court of the Dowager Empress, who was a friend and relation of the
countess and piloted the provincial Rostovs in Petersburg high society,
was to accompany them to the ball.

They were to call for her at her house in the Taurida Gardens at ten
o'clock, but it was already five minutes to ten, and the girls were not
yet dressed.

Natasha was going to her first grand ball. She had got up at eight that
morning and had been in a fever of excitement and activity all day. All
her powers since morning had been concentrated on ensuring that they
all--she herself, Mamma, and Sonya--should be as well dressed as
possible. Sonya and her mother put themselves entirely in her hands. The
countess was to wear a claret-colored velvet dress, and the two girls
white gauze over pink silk slips, with roses on their bodices and their
hair dressed a la grecque.

Everything essential had already been done; feet, hands, necks, and
ears washed, perfumed, and powdered, as befits a ball; the openwork
silk stockings and white satin shoes with ribbons were already on; the
hairdressing was almost done. Sonya was finishing dressing and so was
the countess, but Natasha, who had bustled about helping them all, was
behindhand. She was still sitting before a looking-glass with a dressing
jacket thrown over her slender shoulders. Sonya stood ready dressed in
the middle of the room and, pressing the head of a pin till it hurt her
dainty finger, was fixing on a last ribbon that squeaked as the pin went
through