gentlemen, in the full significance of the word. It is simply to prevent Pugatchov from coming to massacre my children and yours, to prevent Araktcheev from transporting me to a military settlement, that we are joining hands, with the sole object of the common welfare and security.’’

‘‘Yes; but it’s a secret society, and consequently a hostile and mischievous society, which can only lead to evil.’’

‘‘Why so? Did the Tugend-bund which saved Europe’’ (people did not yet venture to believe that Russia had saved Europe) ‘‘lead to evil? A Tugend-bund it is, an alliance of virtue; it is love and mutual help; it is what Christ preached on the cross…’’

Natasha, coming into the room in the middle of the conversation, looked joyfully at her husband. She was not rejoicing in what he was saying. It did not interest her indeed, because it seemed to her that it was all so excessively simple, and that she had known it long ago. She fancied this, because she knew all that it sprang from—all Pierre’s soul. But she was glad looking at his eager, enthusiastic figure.

Pierre was watched with even more rapturous gladness by the boy with the slender neck in the laydown collar, who had been forgotten by all of them. Every word Pierre uttered set his heart in a glow, and his fingers moving nervously, he unconsciously picked up and broke to pieces the sticks of sealing-wax and pens on his uncle’s table.

‘‘It’s not at all what you imagine, but just such a society as the German Tugend-bund is what I propose.’’

‘‘Well, my boy, that’s all very well for the sausage-eaters—a Tugend-bund—but I don’t understand it, and I can’t even pronounce it,’’ Denisov’s loud, positive voice broke in. ‘‘Everything’s rotten and corrupt; I agree there; only your Tugend-bund I don’t understand, but if one is dissatisfied,—a bunt now’’ (i.e. riot or mutiny), ‘‘je suis votre homme!’’

Pierre smiled, Natasha laughed; but Nikolay knitted his brows more than ever, and began arguing with Pierre that no revolution was to be expected, and that the danger he talked of had no existence but in his imagination. Pierre maintained his view, and as his intellectual faculties were keener and more resourceful, Nikolay was soon at a loss for an answer. This angered him still more, as in his heart he felt convinced, not by reasoning, but by something stronger than reasoning, of the indubitable truth of his own view.

‘‘Well, let me tell you,’’ he said, getting up and nervously setting his pipe down in the corner, and then flinging it away; ‘‘I can’t prove it you. You say everything is all rotten, and there will be a revolution; I don’t see it; but you say our oath of allegiance is a conditional thing, and as to that, let me tell you, you are my greatest friend, you know that, but you make a secret society, you begin working against the government—whatever it may be, I know it’s my duty to obey it. And if Araktcheev bids me march against you with a squadron and cut you down, I shan’t hesitate for a second, I shall go. And then you may think what you like about it.’’

An awkward silence followed these words. Natasha was the first to break it by defending her husband and attacking her brother. Her defence was weak and clumsy. But it attained her object. The conversation was taken up again, and no longer in the unpleasantly hostile tone in which Nikolay’s last words had been spoken.

When they all got up to go in to supper, Nikolinka Bolkonsky went up to Pierre with a pale face and shining, luminous eyes.

‘‘Uncle Pierre…you…no…If papa had been alive…he would have been on your side?’’ he asked.