The Rostovs remain in Moscow till the first of September, that is, till the eve of the enemy's entry into the city. After Petya has joined Obolenski's regiment of Cossacks and left for Belaya Tserkov where that regiment is forming, the countess is seized with terror. The thought that both her sons are at the war, have both gone from under her wing, that today or tomorrow either or both of them might be killed like the three sons of one of her acquaintances, strikes her that summer for the first time with cruel clearness. She tries to get Nicholas back and wishes to go herself to join Petya, or to get him an appointment somewhere in Petersburg, but neither of these proves possible. Petya cannot return unless his regiment does so or unless he is transferred to another regiment on active service. Nicholas is somewhere with the army and has not sent a word since his last letter, in which he gave a detailed account of his meeting with Princess Mary. The countess does not sleep at night, or when she does fall asleep dreams that she sees her sons lying dead. After many consultations the count at last devises means to tranquillise her. He gets Petya transferred from Obolenski's regiment to Bezukhov's, which is in training near Moscow. Though Petya will remain in the service, this transfer gives the countess the consolation of seeing at least one of her sons under her wing, and she hopes to arrange matters so as not to let him go again, but always get him appointed to places where he cannot possibly take part in a battle.
As long as Nicholas alone was in danger she imagined she loved her first-born more than all her other children and even reproached herself for it. But when her youngest, the scapegrace who had been bad at lessons, always breaking things and making himself a nuisance, that snub-nosed Petya with his merry black eyes and fresh rosy cheeks where soft down is just beginning to show, when he is thrown amid those big, dreadful, cruel men who are fighting somewhere about something and apparently finding pleasure in it, then his mother thinks she loves him more, much more, than all her other children. The nearer the time comes for Petya to return, the more uneasy she grows. She begins to think she will never live to see such happiness. The presence of Sonya, of her beloved Natasha, or even of her husband irritates her. What do I want with them? I want no one but Petya. At the end of August they receive another letter from Nicholas, written from the province of Voronezh where he has been sent to procure remounts, but that letter does not set her at ease. Knowing that one son is out of danger she becomes the more anxious about Petya. Though by the twentieth of August nearly all the Rostovs' acquaintances have left Moscow, and though everybody tries to persuade the countess to get away as quickly as possible, she will not hear of leaving before her treasure, her adored Petya, returns. On the twenty-eighth he arrives. The passionate tenderness with which his mother receives him does not please the sixteen-year-old officer. Though she conceals from him her intention of keeping him under her wing, Petya guesses her designs, and instinctively fearing that he might give way to emotion when with her, might become womanish as he terms it to himself, he treats her coldly, avoids her, and during his stay in Moscow attaches himself exclusively to Natasha, for whom he has always had a particularly brotherly tenderness, almost lover-like.
Owing to the count's customary carelessness nothing is ready for their departure by the twenty-eighth, and the carts that are to come from their Ryazan and Moscow estates to remove their household belongings do not arrive till the thirtieth. From the twenty-eighth till the thirty-first all Moscow is in a bustle and commotion. Every day thousands of men wounded at Borodino are brought in by the Dorogomilov gate, and thousands of carts convey inhabitants and their possessions out by the other gates. In spite of Rostopchin's broadsheets, or because of them or independently of them, the strangest and most contradictory rumours are current. Some say no one is to be allowed to leave, others that all the icons have been taken out of the churches and everybody is to be ordered to leave. Some talk of another battle after Borodino at which the French were routed, others that the Russian army has been destroyed. Some talk of the Moscow militia going to the Three Hills preceded by the clergy, others whisper that Augustin has been forbidden to leave, that traitors have been seized, that peasants are rioting and robbing people on their way from Moscow. But all this is only talk. In reality, though the Council of Fili has not yet been held, both those who go away and those who remain behind feel, though they do not show it, that Moscow will certainly be abandoned. It is felt that everything will suddenly break up and change, but up to the first of September nothing has done so. As a criminal being led to execution knows that he must die immediately, but yet looks about him and straightens the cap that is awry on his head, so Moscow involuntarily continues its wonted life. During the three days preceding the occupation the whole Rostov family is absorbed in various activities. The count drives about collecting rumours and gives superficial, hasty orders at home. The countess watches the packing, is dissatisfied with everything, is constantly in pursuit of Petya, and is jealous of Natasha with whom he spends all his time. Sonya alone directs the practical side. But of late she has been particularly sad and silent. Nicholas's letter mentioning Princess Mary has elicited, in her presence, joyous comments from the countess, who always wanted Nicholas to marry the princess. Sonya feels that this is true: the only possibility of retrieving the Rostovs' affairs is by Nicholas marrying a rich woman. It is very bitter for her. Despite her grief, or perhaps just because of it, she takes on herself all the difficult work of packing. Petya and Natasha, far from helping, are generally a nuisance. Almost all day long the house resounds with their running feet, their cries, and their spontaneous laughter. They are gay not because there is any reason to laugh, but because gaiety is in their hearts. Petya has returned a fine young man, and Moscow promises fighting in a few days. Natasha has been sad too long, nothing now reminds her of the cause of her sadness, and Petya adores her. Above all, they are gay because there is a war near Moscow, everybody is escaping, and in general something extraordinary is happening, and that is always exciting, especially to the young.
