“What is this?” thought Nikoláy, listening to her with widely opened eyes. “What has happened to her? How she is singing today!” And suddenly the whole world centered for him on anticipation of the next note, the next phrase, and everything in the world was divided into three beats: “ Oh mio crudele affetto. ” … One, two, three … one, two, three … One … “ Oh mio crudele affetto. ” … One, two, three … One. “Oh, this senseless life of ours!” thought Nikoláy. “All this misery, and money, and Dólokhov, and anger, and honor—it’s all nonsense … but this is real. … Now then, Natásha, now then, dearest! Now then, darling! How will she take that si ? She’s taken it! Thank God!” And without noticing that he was singing, to strengthen the si he sung a second, a third below the high note. “Ah, God! How fine! Did I really take it? How fortunate!” he thought.
Oh, how that chord vibrated, and how moved was something that was finest in Rostóv’s soul! And this something was apart from everything else in the world and above everything in the world. “What were losses, and Dólokhov, and words of honor? … All nonsense! One might kill and rob and yet be happy. …”
XVI
It was long since Rostóv had felt such enjoyment from music as he did that day. But no sooner had Natásha finished her barcarolle than reality again presented itself. He got up without saying a word and went downstairs to his own room. A quarter of an hour later the old count came in from his club, cheerful and contented. Nikoláy, hearing him drive up, went to meet him.