The countess took up a position in one of the front rows of
that crowd. Natasha heard and felt that several people were asking about
her and looking at her. She realized that those noticing her liked her,
and this observation helped to calm her.

"There are some like ourselves and some worse," she thought.

Peronskaya was pointing out to the countess the most important people at
the ball.

"That is the Dutch ambassador, do you see? That gray-haired man," she
said, indicating an old man with a profusion of silver-gray curly hair,
who was surrounded by ladies laughing at something he said.

"Ah, here she is, the Queen of Petersburg, Countess Bezukhova," said
Peronskaya, indicating Helene who had just entered. "How lovely! She
is quite equal to Marya Antonovna. See how the men, young and old, pay
court to her. Beautiful and clever... they say Prince--is quite mad
about her. But see, those two, though not good-looking, are even more
run after."

She pointed to a lady who was crossing the room followed by a very plain
daughter.

"She is a splendid match, a millionairess," said Peronskaya. "And look,
here come her suitors."

"That is Bezukhova's brother, Anatole Kuragin," she said, indicating a
handsome officer of the Horse Guards who passed by them with head erect,
looking at something over the heads of the ladies. "He's handsome,
isn't he? I hear they will marry him to that rich girl. But your cousin,
Drubetskoy, is also very attentive to her. They say she has millions. Oh
yes, that's the French ambassador himself!" she replied to the countess'
inquiry about Caulaincourt. "Looks as if he were a king! All the same,
the French are charming, very charming. No one more charming in society.
Ah, here she is! Yes, she is still the most beautiful of them all, our
Marya Antonovna! And how simply she is dressed! Lovely! And that stout
one in spectacles is the universal Freemason," she went on, indicating
Pierre. "Put him beside his wife and he looks a regular buffoon!"

Pierre, swaying his stout body, advanced, making way through the crowd
and nodding to right and left as casually and good-naturedly as if he
were passing through a crowd at a fair. He pushed through, evidently
looking for someone.

Natasha looked joyfully at the familiar face of Pierre, "the buffoon,"
as Peronskaya had called him, and knew he was looking for them, and
for her in particular. He had promised to be at the ball and introduce
partners to her.