ostovs' box.

Natasha looked in the direction in which her father's eyes were turned
and saw Julie sitting beside her mother with a happy look on her face
and a string of pearls round her thick red neck--which Natasha knew was
covered with powder. Behind them, wearing a smile and leaning over with
an ear to Julie's mouth, was Boris' handsome smoothly brushed head. He
looked at the Rostovs from under his brows and said something, smiling,
to his betrothed.

"They are talking about us, about me and him!" thought Natasha. "And he
no doubt is calming her jealousy of me. They needn't trouble themselves!
If only they knew how little I am concerned about any of them."

Behind them sat Anna Mikhaylovna wearing a green headdress and with a
happy look of resignation to the will of God on her face. Their box was
pervaded by that atmosphere of an affianced couple which Natasha knew so
well and liked so much. She turned away and suddenly remembered all that
had been so humiliating in her morning's visit.

"What right has he not to wish to receive me into his family? Oh, better
not think of it--not till he comes back!" she told herself, and began
looking at the faces, some strange and some familiar, in the stalls. In
the front, in the very center, leaning back against the orchestra rail,
stood Dolokhov in a Persian dress, his curly hair brushed up into a huge
shock. He stood in full view of the audience, well aware that he was
attracting everyone's attention, yet as much at ease as though he were
in his own room. Around him thronged Moscow's most brilliant young men,
whom he evidently dominated.

The count, laughing, nudged the blushing Sonya and pointed to her former
adorer.

"Do you recognize him?" said he. "And where has he sprung from?" he
asked, turning to Shinshin. "Didn't he vanish somewhere?"

"He did," replied Shinshin. "He was in the Caucasus and ran away from
there. They say he has been acting as minister to some ruling prince in
Persia, where he killed the Shah's brother. Now all the Moscow ladies
are mad about him! It's 'Dolokhov the Persian' that does it! We never
hear a word but Dolokhov is mentioned. They swear by him, they offer
him to you as they would a dish of choice sterlet. Dolokhov and Anatole
Kuragin have turned all our ladies' heads."

A tall, beautiful woman with a mass of plaited hair and much exposed
plump white shoulders and neck, round which she wore a double string of
large pearls, entered the