The Magic of Being Fully Present — War and Peace

After Prince Andrew, Borís comes up to ask Natásha for a dance, and then the aide-de-camp who opened the ball, and several other young men, so that, flushed and happy, and passing on her superfluous partners to Sónya, she does not cease dancing all the evening. She notices and sees nothing of what occupies everyone else. Not only does she fail to notice that the Emperor talks a long time with the French ambassador, and how particularly gracious he is to a certain lady, or that Prince So-and-so did and said this and that, and that Hélène has great success and is honoured by special attention, but she does not even see the Emperor, and only notices that he has gone because the ball becomes livelier after his departure.

For one of the merry cotillions before supper Prince Andrew is again her partner. He reminds her of their first encounter in the Otrádnoe avenue, and how she had been unable to sleep that moonlight night, and tells her how he had involuntarily overheard her. Natásha blushes at that recollection and tries to excuse herself, as if there had been something to be ashamed of in what he overheard. Like all men who have grown up in society, Andrew likes meeting someone there not of the conventional society stamp. And such is Natásha, with her surprise, her delight, her shyness, and even her mistakes in speaking French. With her he behaves with special care and tenderness, sitting beside her and talking of the simplest and most unimportant matters; he admires her shy grace. In the middle of the cotillion, having completed one of the figures, Natásha, still out of breath, is returning to her seat when another dancer chooses her. She is tired and panting and evidently thinks of declining, but immediately puts her hand gaily on the man's shoulder, smiling at Andrew. I'd be glad to sit beside you and rest, I'm tired, but you see how they keep asking me, and I'm glad of it, I'm happy and I love everybody, and you and I understand it all, and much more is said in her smile. When her partner leaves her she runs across the room to choose two ladies for the figure. If she goes to her cousin first and then to another lady, she will be my wife, Andrew says to himself quite to his own surprise, as he watches her. She does go first to her cousin. What rubbish sometimes enters one's head, he thinks, but what is certain is that that girl is so charming, so original, that she won't be dancing here a month before she will be married. Such as she are rare here. Natásha, readjusting a rose that is slipping on her bodice, settles herself beside him.

When the cotillion is over the old count in his blue coat comes up. She tells her father she has never enjoyed herself so much. That ball Pierre for the first time feels humiliated by the position his wife occupies in court circles. He is gloomy and absent-minded. A deep furrow runs across his forehead, and standing by a window he stares over his spectacles seeing no one. On her way to supper Natásha passes him. His gloomy, unhappy look strikes her. She stops, wishing to help him, to bestow on him the superabundance of her own happiness. How delightful it is, Count, isn't it? Pierre smiles absent-mindedly, evidently not grasping what she said. Yes, I am very glad. How can people be dissatisfied with anything, she thinks, especially such a capital fellow as Bezúkhov. In Natásha's eyes all the people at the ball alike are good, kind, and splendid people, loving one another, none of them capable of injuring another, and so they ought all to be happy.