mes, a complete
cycle of rascalities, an entire science of covering up tracks, and the
perpetual shadow of justice, prison, and perhaps the scaffold.
Bodlevski, with his obstinate, persistent, and concentrated character,
reached the highest skill in card-sharping and the allied wiles. All
games of "chance" were for him games of skill. At thirty he looked at
least ten years older. The life he led, with its ceaseless effort,
endless mental work, perpetual anxiety, had made of him a fanatical
worshiper at the shrine of trickery. He dried up visibly in body and
grew old in mind, mastering all the difficult arts of his profession,
and only gained confidence and serenity when he had reached the
highest possible skill in every branch of his "work." From that moment
he took a new lease of life; he grew younger, he became gay and
self-confident, his health even visibly improved, and he assumed the
air and manner of a perfect gentleman.

As for Natasha, her life and efforts in concert with Bodlevski by no
means had the same wearing effect on her as on him. Her proud, decided
nature received all these impressions quite differently. She continued
to blossom out, to grow handsomer, to enjoy life, to take hearts
captive. All the events which aroused so keen a mental struggle in her
companion she met with entire equanimity. The reason was this: When
she made up her mind to anything, she always decided at once and with
unusual completeness; a very short time given to keen and accurate
consideration, a rapid weighing of the gains and losses of the matter
in hand, and then she went forward coldly and unswervingly on her
chosen path. Her first aim in life had been revenge, then a brilliant
and luxurious life--and she knew that they would cost dear. Therefore,
once embarked on her undertaking, Natasha remained calm and
indifferent, brilliantly distinguished, and ensnaring the just and the
unjust alike. Her intellect, education, skill, resource, and innate
tact made it possible for her everywhere to gain a footing in select
aristocratic society, and to play by no means the least role there.
Many beauties envied her, detested her, spoke evil of her, and yet
sought her friendship, because she almost always queened it in
society. Her friendship and sympathy always seemed so cordial, so
sincere and tender, and her epigrams were so pointed and poisonous,
that every hostile criticism seemed to shrivel up in that glittering
fire, and there seemed