he is a rare girl.... My dear friend, I entreat you,
don't philosophize, don't doubt, marry, marry, marry.... And I am sure
there will not be a happier man than you."

"But what of her?"

"She loves you."

"Don't talk rubbish..." said Prince Andrew, smiling and looking into
Pierre's eyes.

"She does, I know," Pierre cried fiercely.

"But do listen," returned Prince Andrew, holding him by the arm. "Do you
know the condition I am in? I must talk about it to someone."

"Well, go on, go on. I am very glad," said Pierre, and his face really
changed, his brow became smooth, and he listened gladly to Prince
Andrew. Prince Andrew seemed, and really was, quite a different, quite
a new man. Where was his spleen, his contempt for life, his
disillusionment? Pierre was the only person to whom he made up his mind
to speak openly; and to him he told all that was in his soul. Now he
boldly and lightly made plans for an extended future, said he could not
sacrifice his own happiness to his father's caprice, and spoke of how he
would either make his father consent to this marriage and love her, or
would do without his consent; then he marveled at the feeling that had
mastered him as at something strange, apart from and independent of
himself.

"I should not have believed anyone who told me that I was capable of
such love," said Prince Andrew. "It is not at all the same feeling
that I knew in the past. The whole world is now for me divided into two
halves: one half is she, and there all is joy, hope, light: the
other half is everything where she is not, and there is all gloom and
darkness...."

"Darkness and gloom," reiterated Pierre: "yes, yes, I understand that."

"I cannot help loving the light, it is not my fault. And I am very
happy! You understand me? I know you are glad for my sake."

"Yes, yes," Pierre assented, looking at his friend with a touched and
sad expression in his eyes. The brighter Prince Andrew's lot appeared to
him, the gloomier seemed his own.

CHAPTER XXIII

Prince Andrew needed his father's consent to his marriage, and to obtain
this he started for the country next day.

His father received his son's communication with external composure, but
inward wrath. He could not comprehend how anyone could wish to alter his
life or introduce anything new into it, when his own life was already
ending. "If only they would let me end my days as I want to," thought
the old man, "then they might do as th