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All the Moscow notabilities, all the Rostovs' acquaintances, were at the Razumovskis' chapel, for, as if expecting something to happen, many wealthy families who usually left town for their country estates had not gone away that summer.
On the eleventh of July, which was Saturday, the manifesto was received but was not yet in print, and Pierre, who was at the Rostovs', promised to come to dinner next day, Sunday, and bring a copy of the manifesto and appeal, which he would obtain from Count Rostopchin. That Sunday, the Rostovs went to Mass at the Razumovskis' private chapel as usual. It was a hot July day.
Petya pulled him by the arm to attract his attention. "Well, what about my plan? Peter Kirilych, for heaven's sake! You are my only hope," said Petya. "Oh yes, your plan. To join the hussars? I'll mention it, I'll bring it all up today." "Well, mon cher, have you got the manifesto?" asked the old count. "The countess has been to Mass at the Razumovskis' and heard the new prayer.
The Razumovskis wanted to buy his house and his estate near Moscow, but it drags on and on. He asks too much." "No, I think the sale will come off in a few days," said someone. "Though it is madness to buy anything in Moscow now." "Why?" asked Julie. "You don't think Moscow is in danger?" "Then why are you leaving?" "I? What a question!
The latter understood that she was being asked to entertain this young man, and sitting down beside him she began to speak about his father; but he answered her, as he had the countess, only in monosyllables. The other guests were all conversing with one another. "The Razumovskis... It was charming... You are very kind... Countess Apraksina..." was heard on all sides.
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