And now there's Dolokhov sitting in the snow with a forced smile and perhaps dying, while meeting my remorse with some forced bravado!" Pierre was one of those people who, in spite of an appearance of what is called weak character, do not seek a confidant in their troubles.

He digested his sufferings alone.

"It is all, all her fault," he said to himself; "but what of that? Why did I bind myself to her? Why did I say 'Je vous aime'* to her, which was a lie, and worse than a lie? I am guilty and must endure... what? A slur on my name? A misfortune for life? Oh, that's nonsense," he thought.

" The slur on my name and honor--that's all apart from myself.

*I love you.