It was plain that l'amour which the Frenchman was so fond of was notthat low and simple kind that Pierre had once felt for his wife, norwas it the romantic love stimulated by himself that he experienced forNatasha. (Ramballe despised both these kinds of love equally: theone he considered the "love of clodhoppers" and the other the "love ofsimpletons.") L'amour which the Frenchman worshiped consistedprincipally in the unnaturalness of his relation to the woman and in acombination of incongruities giving the chief charm to the feeling.

　　Thus the captain touchingly recounted the story of his love for afascinating marquise of thirty-five and at the same time for acharming, innocent child of seventeen, daughter of the bewitchingmarquise. The conflict of magnanimity between the mother and thedaughter, ending in the mother's sacrificing herself and offeringher daughter in marriage to her lover, even now agitated thecaptain, though it was the memory of a distant past. Then he recountedan episode in which the husband played the part of the lover, andhe- the lover- assumed the role of the husband, as well as severaldroll incidents from his recollections of Germany, where "shelter"is called Unterkunft and where the husbands eat sauerkraut and theyoung girls are "too blonde."

　　Finally, the latest episode in Poland still fresh in the captain'smemory, and which he narrated with rapid gestures and glowing face,was of how he had saved the life of a Pole (in general, the savingof life continually occurred in the captain's stories) and the Polehad entrusted to him his enchanting wife (parisienne de coeur) whilehimself entering the French service. The captain was happy, theenchanting Polish lady wished to elope with him, but, prompted bymagnanimity, the captain restored the wife to the husband, saying ashe did so: "I have saved your life, and I save your honor!" Havingrepeated these words the captain wiped his eyes and gave himself ashake, as if driving away the weakness which assailed him at thistouching recollection.

　　Listening to the captain's tales, Pierre- as often happens late inthe evening and under the influence of wine- followed all that wastold him, understood it all, and at the same time followed a trainof personal memories which, he knew not why, suddenly arose in hismind. While listening to these love stories his own love for Natashaunexpectedly rose to his mind, and going over the pictures of thatlove in his imagination he mentally compared them with Ramballe'stales. Listening to the story of the struggle between love and duty,Pierre saw before his eyes every minutest detail of his last meetingwith the object of his love at the Sukharev water tower. At the timeof that meeting it had not produced an effect upon him- he had noteven once recalled it. But now it seemed to him that that meetinghad had in it something very important and poetic.

　　"Peter Kirilovich, come here! We have recognized you," he now seemedto hear the words she had uttered and to see before him her eyes,her smile, her traveling hood, and a stray lock of her hair... andthere seemed to him something pathetic and touching in all this.