The duel between Pierre and Dólokhov is hushed up and, in spite of the Emperor's severity regarding duels at that time, neither the principals nor their seconds suffer for it. But the story, confirmed by Pierre's rupture with his wife, is the talk of society. Pierre, who had been regarded with patronizing condescension when he was an illegitimate son, and petted and extolled when he was the best match in Russia, had sunk greatly in esteem after his marriage, when the marriageable daughters and their mothers had nothing to hope from him, especially as he did not know how, and did not wish, to court society's favour. Now he alone is blamed for what happened: he is said to be insanely jealous and subject like his father to fits of bloodthirsty rage. And when after his departure Hélène returns to Petersburg, she is received by all her acquaintances not only cordially but even with a shade of deference due to her misfortune. When conversation turns on her husband she assumes a dignified expression which, with characteristic tact, she has acquired though she does not understand its significance: she has resolved to endure her troubles uncomplainingly, and her husband is a cross laid upon her by God. Prince Vasíli expresses his opinion more openly. He shrugs his shoulders when Pierre is mentioned and, pointing to his forehead, remarks that he was a bit touched, he always said so. Anna Pávlovna insists on her priority: she said from the first, even when everybody was in raptures, when he had just returned from abroad and posed as a sort of Marat at one of her soirees, that that senseless young man was spoiled by the depraved ideas of these days. She was against the marriage even then and foretold all that has happened.
She continues to give on free evenings the same kind of soirees as before, such as she alone has the gift of arranging, at which is to be found "the cream of really good society, the bloom of the intellectual essence of Petersburg," as she herself puts it. Besides this refined selection she always presents some new and interesting person, and nowhere else is the state of the political thermometer of legitimate Petersburg court society so clearly indicated. Toward the end of 1806, when all the sad details of Napoleon's destruction of the Prussian army at Jena and Auerstädt and the surrender of most of the Prussian fortresses have been received, when Russian troops have already entered Prussia and the second war with Napoleon is beginning, she gives one of her soirees. The cream consists of the fascinating Hélène, forsaken by her husband, Mortemart, the delightful Prince Hippolyte just back from Vienna, two diplomatists, the old aunt, a young man referred to as a man of great merit, a newly appointed maid of honour and her mother, and several less noteworthy persons. The novelty she is setting before her guests is Borís Drubetskóy, just arrived as a special messenger from the Prussian army and aide-de-camp to a very important personage. The temperature shown by the political thermometer is this: whatever the European sovereigns and commanders may do to countenance Bonaparte, our opinion cannot alter; so much the worse for the King of Prussia. Tu l'as voulu, George Dandin.
When Borís enters, almost all have assembled, and the conversation, guided by Anna Pávlovna, is about diplomatic relations with Austria and the hope of an alliance. Grown more manly, fresh, rosy, self-possessed, elegantly dressed in an aide-de-camp's uniform, he is duly conducted to pay his respects to the aunt and brought back to the general circle. Anna Pávlovna gives him her shriveled hand to kiss and introduces him with whispered descriptions: Hippolyte, charming; Kronq, chargé d'affaires from Copenhagen, a profound intellect; Mr. Shítov, a man of great merit. Thanks to Anna Mikháylovna's efforts, his own tastes, and his reserved nature, Borís has placed himself very advantageously. He has become thoroughly conversant with that unwritten code which so pleased him at Olmütz, according to which an ensign might rank incomparably higher than a general, and according to which what was needed for success was not effort or work or courage or perseverance, but only the knowledge of how to get on with those who can grant rewards. He is often surprised at the rapidity of his success and at the inability of others to understand these things. In consequence his whole manner of life, all his relations with old friends, all his plans, are completely altered. He is not rich, but will spend his last groat to be better dressed than others, and would rather deprive himself of many pleasures than be seen in a shabby equipage or an old uniform in the streets of Petersburg. He seeks only those above him who can be of use. He likes Petersburg and despises Moscow. The remembrance of the Rostóvs' house and of his childish love for Natásha is unpleasant, and he has not once been to see them since the day he left for the army. To be in Anna Pávlovna's drawing room he considers an important step up, and he at once understands his role, letting his hostess make use of whatever interest he has to offer. He himself carefully scans each face, appraising the possibilities of intimacy and the advantages that might accrue. He takes the seat indicated beside the fair Hélène and listens.
Vienna considers the bases of the proposed treaty so unattainable that not even a continuity of most brilliant successes would secure them. The doubt is flattering, says the man of profound intellect. Mortemart distinguishes the Vienna cabinet from the Emperor of Austria. Anna Pávlovna, calling it L'Urope as if that were a specially refined pronunciation, says Europe will never be our sincere ally. She then leads up to the courage and firmness of the King of Prussia, in order to draw Borís in. He listens to each speaker, awaiting his turn, but meanwhile looks round repeatedly at Hélène, whose eyes several times meet those of the handsome young aide-de-camp with a smile. Asked about his journey to Glogau and the state of the Prussian army, he tells, with deliberation, in pure, correct French, many interesting details about the armies and the court, carefully abstaining from expressing an opinion of his own. For some time he engrosses general attention; the novelty is received with pleasure. The greatest attention of all is shown by Hélène. She asks several questions and seems greatly interested in the Prussian army. As soon as he has finished she turns with her usual smile. He absolutely must come and see her, in a tone that implies that, for certain considerations he could not know of, this is absolutely necessary. Tuesday between eight and nine. It will give her great pleasure. Borís promises and is about to begin a conversation when Anna Pávlovna calls him away on the pretext that her aunt wishes to hear him. "You know her husband, of course?" she says, closing her eyes and indicating Hélène with a sorrowful gesture. "Ah, she is such an unfortunate and charming woman! Don't mention him before her, please don't! It is too painful for her!
