refusal.”
“Countess …” said Denísov, with downcast eyes and a guilty face. He tried to say more, but faltered.
Natásha could not remain calm, seeing him in such a plight. She began to sob aloud.
“Countess, I have done w’ong,” Denísov went on in an unsteady voice, “but believe me, I so adore your daughter and all your family that I would give my life twice over …” He looked at the countess, and seeing her severe face said: “Well, goodbye, Countess,” and kissing her hand, he left the room with quick resolute strides, without looking at Natásha.
Next day Rostóv saw Denísov off. He did not wish to stay another day in Moscow. All Denísov’s Moscow friends gave him a farewell entertainment at the gypsies’, with the result that he had no recollection of how he was put in the sleigh or of the first three stages of his journey.
After Denísov’s departure, Rostóv spent another fortnight in Moscow, without going out of the house, waiting for the money his father could not at once raise, and he spent most of his time in the girls’ room.
Sónya was more tender and devoted to him than ever. It was as if she wanted to show him that his losses were an achievement that made her love him all the more, but Nikoláy now considered himself unworthy of her.
He filled the girls’ albums with verses and music, and having at last sent Dólokhov the whole forty-three thousand rubles and received his receipt, he left at the end of November, without taking leave of any of his acquaintances, to overtake his regiment which was already in Poland.