Natasha felt that she would be left with her mother and Sonya among a minority of women who crowded near the wall, not having been invited to dance.

She stood with her slender arms hanging down, her scarcely defined bosom rising and falling regularly, and with bated breath and glittering, frightened eyes gazed straight before her, evidently prepared for the height of joy or misery.

She was not concerned about the Emperor or any of those great people whom Peronskaya was pointing out--she had but one thought: "Is it possible no one will ask me, that I shall not be among the first to dance? Is it possible that not one of all these men will notice me? They do not even seem to see me, or if they do they look as if they were saying, 'Ah, she's not the one I'm after, so it's not worth looking at her!' No, it's impossible," she thought.

" They must know how I long to dance, how splendidly I dance, and how they would enjoy dancing with me.

" The strains of the polonaise, which had continued for a considerable time, had begun to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natasha's ears.