d his lips, and
sympathy for others, shone in his eyes with a questioning look as to
whether they were as contented as he was, and people felt pleased by his
presence.

Previously he had talked a great deal, grew excited when he talked, and
seldom listened; now he was seldom carried away in conversation and
knew how to listen so that people readily told him their most intimate
secrets.

The princess, who had never liked Pierre and had been particularly
hostile to him since she had felt herself under obligations to him after
the old count's death, now after staying a short time in Orel--where she
had come intending to show Pierre that in spite of his ingratitude she
considered it her duty to nurse him--felt to her surprise and vexation
that she had become fond of him. Pierre did not in any way seek her
approval, he merely studied her with interest. Formerly she had felt
that he regarded her with indifference and irony, and so had shrunk into
herself as she did with others and had shown him only the combative side
of her nature; but now he seemed to be trying to understand the most
intimate places of her heart, and, mistrustfully at first but afterwards
gratefully, she let him see the hidden, kindly sides of her character.

The most cunning man could not have crept into her confidence more
successfully, evoking memories of the best times of her youth and
showing sympathy with them. Yet Pierre's cunning consisted simply in
finding pleasure in drawing out the human qualities of the embittered,
hard, and (in her own way) proud princess.

"Yes, he is a very, very kind man when he is not under the influence of
bad people but of people such as myself," thought she.

His servants too--Terenty and Vaska--in their own way noticed the change
that had taken place in Pierre. They considered that he had become much
"simpler." Terenty, when he had helped him undress and wished him good
night, often lingered with his master's boots in his hands and clothes
over his arm, to see whether he would not start a talk. And Pierre,
noticing that Terenty wanted a chat, generally kept him there.

"Well, tell me... now, how did you get food?" he would ask.

And Terenty would begin talking of the destruction of Moscow, and of
the old count, and would stand for a long time holding the clothes and
talking, or sometimes listening to Pierre's stories, and then would go
out into the hall with a pleasant sense of intimacy with his master and
affec