In the night he summoned his valet and told him to pack to go to Petersburg. He could not remain under the same roof with her, could not imagine speaking to her now. He decided to go the next day, leaving a letter in which he would inform her of his intention of parting from her forever.

When the valet brought his coffee to the study in the morning, Pierre was lying on the sofa asleep with an open book in his hand. He woke up and for some time gazed about him with a startled expression, unable to realize where he was.

``The Countess sent to inquire whether Your Excellency was at home,'' said the valet.

But before Pierer could make up his mind what to answer, the Countess herself walked calmly and majestically into the room, wearing a white satin negligee embroidered in silver, and with her hair simply arranged (two heavy braids, like a coronet, were wound twice around her exquisite head). Despite her composture, there was a wrathful line on her rather prominent marble brow. With her imperturbable calm, she did not begin to speak in front of the valet. She knew of the duel and had come to talk about it, but waited until the valet had set down the coffee tray and left the room.

Pierre timidly looked at her over his spectacles, and like a hare surrounded by hounds who lays back his ears and remains motionless in sight of its enemies he tried to go on reading; then feeling that this was senseless and impossible, he again glanced timidly at her. She did not sit down but stood looking at him with a contemptuous smile, waiting for the valet to go.

``What is this about? What have you been up to now, I should like to know?'' she asked sternly.

``I? . . . What have I . . .'' Pierre murmured.

``Trying to act like a hero? Well, answer me, what does this duel mean? What is it you want to prove? What---I'm asking you!''

Pierre turned over heavily on the sofa and opened his mouth, but could not reply.

``If you won't answer, I'll tell you,'' continued Ellen. ``You believe everything you're told. You were told . . .'' she laughed, ``that Dolokhov was my lover,'' she said in French, with her coarse plainness of speech uttering the word ``lover'' as casually as any other, ``and you believed it! What have you proved by this? Well, what have you proved by this duel? That you're a fool, que vous êtes un sot---but everyone knew that! And what will the result be? That I shall be the laughingstock of all Moscow; that everyone will say you were drunk, and, not knowing what you were doing, challenged a man you were jealous of without cause,'' Ellen raised her voice and grew more and more excited, ``a man who's a better man than you in every way . . .''

``Hm . . . Hm . . .'' growled Pierre, scowling, but not looking at her or moving a muscle.

``And why did you believe he was my lover? Why? Because I like his company? If you were cleverer and more agreeable, I should have preferred yours.''

``Don't speak to me . . . I beg of you . . .'' said Pierre in a hoarse whisper.

``Why shouldn't I speak? I can say what I like, and I tell you plainly, there are not many wives with such a husband as you who would not have taken lovers des amants, but I have not done so,'' she said.

Pierre tried to say something: his eyes had a strange expression as he looked at her, an expression she did not understand. He lay down again. He was suffering physically at that moment: he felt a constriction in his chest and could not breathe. He knew that he must do something to put an end to this suffering, but what he wanted to do was too horrifying.

``We had better separate,'' he murmured brokenly.

``Separate, by all means---but only if you give me a fortune,'' said Ellen. ``Separate! Now that's something to scare me with!''

Pierre leaped up from the sofa, and staggering, rushed toward her.

``I'll kill you!'' he shouted, and seizing the marble top of a table with a strength he did not know he had, he took a step toward her brandishing it.

Ellen's face was ghastly. She screamed and sprang away from him. His father's nature showed itself in Pierre. He was carried away by a transport of frenzied rage. He flung down the slab of marble, broke it, and lunged at Ellen with outstretched hands.

``Get out!'' he shouted, in a voice so terrifying that the whole house heard it with horror.

God knows what he would have done at that moment if Ellen had not fled from the room.

Within a week Pierre had given his wife a power of attorney for the control of all his estates in Great Russia, which constituted the larger part of his property, and had gone away to Petersburg alone.

-- Tolstoy, War and Peace