Pierre felt that he was the centre of it all， and this position both pleased him and embarrassed him. He was like a man absorbed in some engrossing occupation. He had no clear sight， nor hearing； no understanding of anything. Only from time to time disconnected ideas and impressions of the reality flashed unexpectedly into his mind.
“So it is all over！” he thought. “And how has it all been done？ So quickly！ Now I know that not for her sake， nor for my sake alone， but for every one it must inevitably come to pass. They all expect it so， they are all so convinced that it will be， that I cannot， I cannot， disappoint them. But how will it be？ I don’t know， but it will be infallibly， it will be！” mused Pierre， glancing at the dazzling shoulders that were so close to his eyes.
Then he suddenly felt a vague shame. He felt awkward at being the sole object of the general attention， at being a happy man in the eyes of others， with his ugly face being a sort of Paris in possession of a Helen. “But， no doubt， it’s always like this， and must be so，” he consoled himself. “And yet what have I done to bring it about？ When did it begin？ I came here from Moscow with Prince Vassily， then there was nothing. Afterwards what reason was there for not staying with him？ Then I played cards with her and picked up her reticule， and went skating with her. When did it begin， when did it all come about？” And here he was sitting beside her as her betrothed， hearing， seeing， feeling her closeness， her breathing， her movements， her beauty. Then it suddenly seemed to him that it was not she， but he who was himself extraordinarily beautiful， that that was why they were looking at him so， and he， happy in the general admiration， was drawing himself up， lifting his head and rejoicing in his happiness. All at once he heard a voice， a familiar voice， addressing him for the second time.
But Pierre was so absorbed that he did not understand what was said to him.
“I’m asking you， when you heard last from Bolkonsky，” Prince Vassily repeated a third time. “How absent-minded you are， my dear boy.” Prince Vassily smiled， and Pierre saw that every one， every one was smiling at him and at Ellen.
“Well， what of it， since you all know，” Pierre was saying to himself. “What of it？ it’s the truth，” and he smiled himself his gentle， childlike smile， and Ellen smiled.
“When did you get a letter？ From Olmütz？” repeated Prince Vassily， who wanted to know in order to settle some disputed question.
“How can people talk and think of such trifles？” thought Pierre.
“Yes， from Olmütz，” he answered with a sigh.
Pierre took his lady in behind the rest from supper to the drawing-room. The guests began to take leave， and several went away without saying good-bye to Ellen. As though unwilling to take her away from a serious occupation， several went up to her for an instant and made haste to retire again， refusing to let her accompany them out. The diplomat went out of the drawing-room in dumb dejection. He felt vividly all the vanity of his diplomatic career by comparison with Pierre’s happiness. The old general growled angrily at his wife when she inquired how his leg was. “The old fool，” he thought. “Look at Elena Vassilyevna； she’ll be beautiful at fifty.”
“I believe I may congratulate you，” Anna Pavlovna whispered to Princess Kuragin， as she kissed her warmly. “If I hadn’t a headache， I would stay on.” The princess made no answer； she was tormented by envy of her daughter’s happiness.
While the guests were taking leave， Pierre was left a long while alone with Ellen in the little drawing-room， where they were sitting. Often before， during the last six weeks， he had been left alone with Ellen， but he had never spoken of love to her. Now he felt that this was inevitable， but he could not make up his mind to this final step. He felt ashamed； it seemed to him that here at Ellen’s side he was filling some other man’s place. “This happiness is not for you，” some inner voice said to him. “This happiness is for those who have not in them what you have within you.” But he had to say something， and he began to speak. He asked her whether she had enjoyed the evening. With her habitual directness in replying， she answered that this name-day had been one of the pleasantest she had ever had.
