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Chapter 9

           Therewasnooneintheanteroom;emptybottles,cloaks,andovershoeswerelyingabout;therewasasmellofalcohol,andsoundsofvoicesandshoutinginthedistance.

           Cardsandsupperwereover,butthevisitorshadnotyetdispersed.Pierrethrewoffhiscloakandenteredthefirstroom,inwhichweretheremainsofsupper.Afootman,thinkingnoonesawhim,wasdrinkingontheslywhatwasleftintheglasses.Fromthethirdroomcamesoundsoflaughter,theshoutingoffamiliarvoices,thegrowlingofabear,andgeneralcommotion.Someeightornineyoungmenwerecrowdinganxiouslyroundanopenwindow.Threeotherswererompingwithayoungbear,onepullinghimbythechainandtryingtosethimattheothers.

           “IbetahundredonStevens!”shoutedone.

           “Mind,noholdingon!”criedanother.

           “IbetonDólokhov!”criedathird.“Kurágin,youpartourhands.”

           “There,leaveBruinalone;here’sabeton.”

           “Atonedraught,orheloses!”shoutedafourth.

           “Jacob,bringabottle!”shoutedthehost,atall,handsomefellowwhostoodinthemidstofthegroup,withoutacoat,andwithhisfinelinenshirtunfastenedinfront.“Waitabit,youfellows....HereisPétya!Goodman!”criedhe,addressingPierre.

           Anothervoice,fromamanofmediumheightwithclearblueeyes,particularlystrikingamongallthesedrunkenvoicesbyitssoberring,criedfromthewindow:“Comehere;partthebets!”ThiswasDólokhov,anofficeroftheSemënovregiment,anotoriousgamblerandduelist,whowaslivingwithAnatole.Pierresmiled,lookingabouthimmerrily.

           “Idon’tunderstand.

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