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"Not seen Duport-the famous dancer? Well then, you won't

understand. That's what I'm up to."

Curving her arms, Natasha held out her skirts as dancers do, ran

back a few steps, turned, cut a caper, brought her little feet

sharply together, and made some steps on the very tips of her

toes.

"See, I'm standing! See!" she said, but could not maintain

herself on her toes any longer. "So that's what I'm up to! I'll

never marry anyone, but will be a dancer. Only don't tell

anyone."

Rostov laughed so loud and merrily that Denisov, in his bedroom,

felt envious and Natasha could not help joining in.

"No, but don't you think it's nice?" she kept repeating.

"Nice! And so you no longer wish to marry Boris?"

Natasha flared up. "I don't want to marry anyone. And I'll tell

him so when I see him!"

"Dear me!" said Rostov.

"But that's all rubbish," Natasha chattered on. "And is Denisov

nice?" she asked.

"Yes, indeed!"

"Oh, well then, good-by: go and dress. Is he very terrible,

Denisov?"