had never yet recalled them. He now, as
it were, saw a new meaning in all he had gone through. Now that he was
telling it all to Natasha he experienced that pleasure which a man has
when women listen to him--not clever women who when listening either try
to remember what they hear to enrich their minds and when opportunity
offers to retell it, or who wish to adopt it to some thought of their
own and promptly contribute their own clever comments prepared in their
little mental workshop--but the pleasure given by real women gifted with
a capacity to select and absorb the very best a man shows of himself.
Natasha without knowing it was all attention: she did not lose a word,
no single quiver in Pierre's voice, no look, no twitch of a muscle in
his face, nor a single gesture. She caught the unfinished word in its
flight and took it straight into her open heart, divining the secret
meaning of all Pierre's mental travail.

Princess Mary understood his story and sympathized with him, but she
now saw something else that absorbed all her attention. She saw the
possibility of love and happiness between Natasha and Pierre, and the
first thought of this filled her heart with gladness.

It was three o'clock in the morning. The footmen came in with sad and
stern faces to change the candles, but no one noticed them.

Pierre finished his story. Natasha continued to look at him intently
with bright, attentive, and animated eyes, as if trying to understand
something more which he had perhaps left untold. Pierre in shamefaced
and happy confusion glanced occasionally at her, and tried to think what
to say next to introduce a fresh subject. Princess Mary was silent. It
occurred to none of them that it was three o'clock and time to go to
bed.

"People speak of misfortunes and sufferings," remarked Pierre, "but if
at this moment I were asked: 'Would you rather be what you were before
you were taken prisoner, or go through all this again?' then for
heaven's sake let me again have captivity and horseflesh! We imagine
that when we are thrown out of our usual ruts all is lost, but it is
only then that what is new and good begins. While there is life there is
happiness. There is much, much before us. I say this to you," he added,
turning to Natasha.

"Yes, yes," she said, answering something quite different. "I too should
wish nothing but to relive it all from the beginning."

Pierre looked intently at her.

"Yes, and nothing more," said