The friends were silent.

Neither cared to begin talking.

Pierre continually glanced at Prince Andrew; Prince Andrew rubbed his forehead with his small hand.
"Let us go and have supper," he said with a sigh, going to the door.
They entered the elegant, newly decorated, and luxurious dining room.
Everything from the table napkins to the silver, china, and glass bore that imprint of newness found in the households of the newly married.
Halfway through supper Prince Andrew leaned his elbows on the table and, with a look of nervous agitation such as Pierre had never before seen on his face, began to talk--as one who has long had something on his mind and suddenly determines to speak out.
"Never, never marry, my dear fellow! That's my advice: never marry till you can say to yourself that you have done all you are capable of, and until you have ceased to love the woman of your choice and have seen her plainly as she is, or else you will make a cruel and irrevocable mistake.

Marry when you are old and good for nothing--or all that is good and noble in you will be lost.

It will all be wasted on trifles.
Yes! Yes! Yes! Don't look at me with such surprise.