dear count, you were one of my best pupils—you must dance,” said little Iogel coming up to Nikoláy. “Look how many charming young ladies—” He turned with the same request to Denísov who was also a former pupil of his.
“No, my dear fellow, I’ll be a wallflower,” said Denísov. “Don’t you wecollect what bad use I made of your lessons?”
“Oh no!” said Iogel, hastening to reassure him. “You were only inattentive, but you had talent—oh yes, you had talent!”
The band struck up the newly introduced mazurka. Nikoláy could not refuse Iogel and asked Sónya to dance. Denísov sat down by the old ladies and, leaning on his saber and beating time with his foot, told them something funny and kept them amused, while he watched the young people dancing, Iogel with Natásha, his pride and his best pupil, were the first couple.
Noiselessly, skillfully stepping with his little feet in low shoes, Iogel flew first across the hall with Natásha, who, though shy, went on carefully executing her steps. Denísov did not take his eyes off her and beat time with his saber in a way that clearly indicated that if he was not dancing it was because he would not and not because he could not.
In the middle of a figure he beckoned to Rostóv who was passing:
“This is not at all the thing,” he said. “What sort of Polish mazuwka is this? But she does dance splendidly.”
Knowing that Denísov had a reputation even in Poland for the masterly way in which he danced the mazurka, Nikoláy ran up to Natásha:
“Go and choose Denísov. He is a real dancer, a