Natásha involuntarily gazed at that neck, those shoulders, and pearls and coiffure, and admired the beauty of the shoulders and the pearls. While Natásha was fixing her gaze on her for the second time the lady looked round and, meeting the count’s eyes, nodded to him and smiled. She was the Countess Bezúkhova, Pierre’s wife, and the count, who knew everyone in society, leaned over and spoke to her.

“Have you been here long, Countess?” he inquired. “I’ll call, I’ll call to kiss your hand. I’m here on business and have brought my girls with me. They say Semënova acts marvelously. Count Pyotr Kirílovich never used to forget us. Is he here?”

“Yes, he meant to look in,” answered Elèn, and glanced attentively at Natásha.

Count Ilyá Andréevich resumed his seat.

“Handsome, isn’t she?” he whispered to Natásha.

“Wonderful!” answered Natásha. “She’s a woman one could easily fall in love with.”