“Well， I suppose dinner’s ready， eh？” said Marya Dmitrvevna. The count led the way with Marya Dmitryevna， then followed the countess， taken in by a colonel of hussars， a person of importance， as Nikolay was to travel in his company to join the regiment； then Anna Mihalovna with Shinshin. Berg gave his arm to Vera， Julie Karagin walked in smiling with Nikolay. They were followed by a string of other couples， stretching right across the hall， and behind all， the children with their tutors and governesses trooped in， walked singly. There was a bustle among the waiters and a creaking of chairs； the orchestra began playing， as the guests took their places. Then the strains of the count’s household band were succeeded by the clatter of knives and forks， the conversation of the guests， and the subdued tread of the waiters. The countess presided at one end of the table. On her right was Marya Dmitryevna； on her left Anna Mihalovna and the other ladies of the party. At the other end sat the count， with the colonel of hussars on his left， and on his right Shinshin and the other guests of the male sex. On one side of the large table sat the more grown-up of the young people： Vera beside Berg， Pierre beside Boris. On the other side were the children with their tutors and governesses. The count peeped from behind the crystal of the decanters and fruit-dishes at his wife and her high cap with blue ribbons， and zealously poured out wine for his neighbours， not overlooking himself. The countess， too， while mindful of her duties as hostess， cast significant glances from behind the pineapples at her husband， whose face and bald head struck her as looking particularly red against his grey hair. At the ladies’ end there was a rhythmic murmur of talk， but at the other end of the table the men’s voices grew louder and louder， especially the voice of the colonel of hussars， who， getting more and more flushed， ate and drank so much that the count held him up as a pattern to the rest. Berg with a tender smile was telling Vera that love was an emotion not of earth but of heaven. Boris was telling his new friend Pierre the names of the guests， while he exchanged glances with Natasha sitting opposite him. Pierre said little， looked about at the new faces， and ate a great deal. Of the two soups he chose à la tortue， and from that course to the fish-pasties and the grouse， he did not let a single dish pass， and took every sort of wine that the butler offered him， as he mysteriously poked a bottle wrapped in a napkin over his neighbour’s shoulder， murmuring， “Dry Madeira，” or “Hungarian，” or “Rhine wine.” Pierre took a wine-glass at random out of the four crystal glasses engraved with the count’s crest that were set at each place， and drank with relish， staring at the guests with a countenance that became more and more amiable as the dinner went on. Natasha， who sat opposite him， gazed at Boris as girls of thirteen gaze at the boy whom they have just kissed for the first time， and with whom they are in love. This gaze sometimes strayed to Pierre， and at the look on the funny， excited little girl’s face， he felt an impulse to laugh himself without knowing why.
Nikolay was sitting a long way from Sonya， beside Julie Karagin， and again smiling the same unconscious smile， he was talking to her. Sonya wore a company smile， but she was visibly in agonies of jealousy； at one moment she turned pale， then she crimsoned， and all her energies were concentrated on listening to what Nikolay and Julie were saying. The governess looked nervously about her， as though preparing to resent any slight that might be offered to the children. The German tutor was trying to learn by heart a list of all the kinds of dishes， desserts， and wines， in order to write a detailed description of them to the folks at home in Germany， and was greatly mortified that the butler with the bottle in the napkin had passed him over. The German knitted his brows， and tried to look as though he would not have cared to take that wine， but he was mortified because no one would understand that he had not wanted the wine to quench his thirst， or through greed， but from a conscientious desire for knowledge.
