said Denísov, who at the Rostóvs’ had jocularly assumed the role of Natásha’s knight. “I’m even weady to dance the pas de châle .”
“If I have time,” answered Nikoláy. “But I promised the Arkhárovs; they have a party.”
“And you?” he asked Dólokhov, but as soon as he had asked the question he noticed that it should not have been put.
“Perhaps,” coldly and angrily replied Dólokhov, glancing at Sónya, and, scowling, he gave Nikoláy just such a look as he had given Pierre at the club dinner.
“There is something up,” thought Nikoláy, and he was further confirmed in this conclusion by the fact that Dólokhov left immediately after dinner. He called Natásha and asked her what was the matter.
“And I was looking for you,” said Natásha running out to him. “I told you, but you would not believe it,” she said triumphantly. “He has proposed to Sónya!”
Little as Nikoláy had occupied himself with Sónya of late, something seemed to give way within him at this news. Dólokhov was a suitable and in some respects a brilliant match for the dowerless, orphan girl. From the point of view of the old countess and of society it was out of the question for her to refuse him. And therefore Nikoláy’s first feeling on hearing the news was one of anger with Sónya. … He tried to say, “That’s capital; of course she’ll forget her childish promises and accept the offer,” but before he had time to say it Natásha began again.
“And fancy! she refused him quite definitely!” adding, after a pause, “she told him she loved another.”
“Yes, my Sónya could not have done