The little princess， in fact， lived at Bleak Hills in a state of continual terror of the old prince， and had an aversion for him， of which she was herself unconscious， so completely did terror overbear every other feeling. There was the same aversion on the prince’s side， too； but in his case it was swallowed up in contempt. As she went on staying at Bleak Hills， the little princess became particularly fond of Mademoiselle Bourienne； she spent her days with her， begged her to sleep in her room， and often talked of her father-in-law， and criticised him to her.
“We have company coming， prince，” said Mademoiselle Bourienne， her rosy fingers unfolding her dinner-napkin. “His excellency Prince Kuragin with his son， as I have heard say？” she said in a tone of inquiry.
“H’m！ … his excellence is an upstart. I got him his place in the college，” the old prince said huffily. “And what his son’s coming for， I can’t make out. Princess Lizaveta Karlovna and Princess Marya can tell us， maybe； I don’t know what he’s bringing his son here for. I don’t want him.” And he looked at his daughter， who turned crimson.
“Unwell， eh？ Scared of the minister， as that blockhead Alpatitch called him to-day？”
“Non， mon père.”
Unsuccessful as Mademoiselle Bourienne had been in the subject she had started， she did not desist， but went on prattling away about the conservatories， the beauty of a flower that had just opened， and after the soup the prince subsided.
After dinner he went to see his daughter-in-law. The little princess was sitting at a little table gossiping with Masha， her maid. She turned pale on seeing her father-in-law.
The little princess was greatly changed. She looked ugly rather than pretty now. Her cheeks were sunken， her lip was drawn up， and her eyes were hollow.
“Yes， a sort of heaviness，” she said in answer to the prince’s inquiry how she felt.
“Isn’t there anything you need？”
“Non， merci， mon père.”
“Oh， very well then， very well.”
He went out and into the waiting-room. Alpatitch was standing there with downcast head.
“Filled up the road again？”
“Yes， your excellency； for God’s sake， forgive me， it was simply a blunder.”
The prince cut him short with his unnatural laugh.
“Oh， very well， very well.” He held out his hand， which Alpatitch kissed， and then he went to his study.
In the evening Prince Vassily arrived. He was met on the way by the coachmen and footmen of the Bolkonskys， who with shouts dragged his carriages and sledge to the lodge， over the road， which had been purposely obstructed with snow again.
Prince Vassily and Anatole were conducted to separate apartments.
Taking off his tunic， Anatole sat with his elbows on the table， on a corner of which he fixed his handsome， large eyes with a smiling， unconcerned stare. All his life he had looked upon as an uninterrupted entertainment， which some one or other was， he felt， somehow bound to provide for him. In just the same spirit he had looked at his visit to the cross old gentleman and his rich and hideous daughter. It might all， according to his anticipations， turn out very jolly and amusing. “And why not get married， if she has such a lot of money？ That never comes amiss，” thought Anatole.
He shaved and scented himself with the care and elegance that had become habitual with him， and with his characteristic expression of all-conquering good-humour， he walked into his father’s room， holding， his head high. Two valets were busily engaged in dressing Prince Vassily； he was looking about him eagerly， and nodded gaily to his son， as he entered with an air that said， “Yes， that’s just how I wanted to see you looking.”
“Come， joking apart， father， is she so hideous？ Eh？” he asked in French， as though reverting to a subject more than once discussed on the journey.
“Nonsense！ The great thing for you is to try and be respectful and sensible with the old prince.”
“If he gets nasty， I’m off，” said Anatole. “I can’t stand those old gentlemen. Eh？”
“Remember that for you everything depends on it.”
Meanwhile， in the feminine part of the household not only the arrival of the minister and his son was already known， but the appearance of both had been minutely described. Princess Marya was sitting alone in her room doing her utmost to control her inner emotion.
“Why did they write， why did Liza tell me about it？ Why， it cannot be！” she thought， looking at herself in the glass. “How am I to go into the drawing-room？ Even if I like him， I could never be myself with him now.” The mere thought of her father’s eyes reduced her to terror. The little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne had already obtained all necessary information from the maid， Masha； they had learned what a handsome fellow the minister’s son was， with rosy cheeks and black eye-brows； how his papa had dragged his legs upstairs with difficulty， while he， like a young eagle， had flown up after him three steps at a time. On receiving these items of information， the little princess and Mademoiselle Bourienne， whose eager voices were audible in the corridor， went into Princess Marya’s room.
“They are come， Marie， do you know？” said the little princess， waddling in and sinking heavily into an armchair. She was not wearing the gown in which she had been sitting in the morning， but had put on one of her best dresses. Her hair had been carefully arranged， and her face was full of an eager excitement， which did not， however， conceal its wasted and pallid look. In the smart clothes which she had been used to wear in Petersburg in society， the loss of her good looks was even more noticeable. Mademoiselle Bourienne， too， had put some hardly perceptible finishing touches to her costume， which made her fresh， pretty face even more attractive.
“What， and you are staying just as you are， dear princess. They will come in a minute to tell us the gentlemen are in the drawing-room，” she began. “We shall have to go down， and you are doing nothing at all to your dress.”