All Moscow was in the church.
‘Why is Marie in lilac? It’s almost as unsuitable at a wedding as black,’ remarked Madame Korsunsky.
‘With her complexion it’s her only salvation,’ replied Princess Drubetskoy. ‘I wonder why they are having the wedding in the evening like shop-people…’
‘It’s prettier. I was married in the evening too,’ sighed Madame Korsunsky, remembering how sweet she had looked that day, how absurdly in love her husband had been, and how different it all was now.
‘They say if you are best man more than ten times you’ll never be married yourself. I wanted to be best man for the tenth time, to make myself safe, but I was too late,’ Count Sinyavin was saying to the pretty young Princess Tcharsky, who had designs on him.
Princess Tcharsky only answered with a smile. She was looking at Kitty and thinking of the time when she would be standing there beside Count Sinyavin, in the place where Kitty now stood, and of how she would remind him of his present joke.
Young Scherbatsky was telling the old maid of honor, Madame Nikolayev, that he intended putting the crown on Kitty's chignon for luck.
‘She ought not to have worn a chignon,’ replied Madame Nikolayev, having long ago made up her mind that, if the elderly widower at who she was setting her cap married her, she would have a very simple wedding. ‘I don’t like all this show.’
- Translated by Rosemary Edmonds