War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [724]
In that first moment, Pierre involuntarily told her, and Princess Marya, and above all himself, a secret he himself was unaware of. He blushed joyfully and painfully. He wanted to conceal his excitement. But the more he wanted to conceal it, the more clearly—more clearly than the most definite words—he said to himself, and to her, and to Princess Marya, that he loved her.
“No, it’s just because of the unexpectedness,” thought Pierre. But as he was about to continue the conversation he had started with Princess Marya, he again glanced at Natasha, and he blushed still more deeply, and a still greater excitement of joy and fear seized his soul. He became entangled in his words and stopped in the middle of his speech.
Pierre had not noticed Natasha because he had never expected to see her there, but he had not recognized her because the change that had taken place in her since he had last seen her was enormous. She had grown thinner and paler. But that was not what had made her unrecognizable: it had been impossible to recognize her in the first moment, as he came in, because on that face, in the eyes of which formerly there had always shone a secret smile of the joy of life, now, when he had come in and glanced at her for the first time, there had been not even the shadow of a smile; there had been only eyes—attentive, kind, and sadly questioning.
Pierre’s confusion was not reflected as confusion in Natasha, but only as a pleasure that almost imperceptibly lit up her whole face.
XVI
“She’s come to stay with me,” said Princess Marya. “The count and countess will come any day now. The countess is in a terrible state. But Natasha herself needed to see a doctor. They forced her to come with me.”
“Yes, is there a family without its grief?” said Pierre, turning to Natasha. “You know, it was on the same day that we were set free. I saw him. He was such a lovely boy!”
Natasha was looking at him, and in reply to his words her eyes only widened and lit up the more.
“What can one say or think in consolation?” said Pierre. “Nothing. Why did such a nice boy, so full of life, have to die?”
“Yes, in our time it would be hard to live without faith…” said Princess Marya.
“Yes, yes. That’s really true,” Pierre hastily interrupted.
“Why?” asked Natasha, looking attentively into Pierre’s eyes.
“What do you mean, why?” said Princess Marya. “The mere thought of what awaits us there…”
Natasha, not hearing Princess Marya out, again glanced questioningly at Pierre.
“It’s because,” Pierre went on, “only a person who believes that there is a God who rules over us can endure such a loss as hers…and yours,” said Pierre.
Natasha had already opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly stopped. Pierre hastened to turn away from her and again addressed Princess Marya with a question about the last days of his friend’s life. Pierre’s confusion had now almost vanished; but along with that he felt that all his former freedom had also vanished. He felt that now over his every word, his every deed, there was a judge, a judgment, which was dearer to him than the judgments of all the people in the world. He spoke now, and along with his words he considered the impression his words would make on Natasha. He did not deliberately say what would please her, but whatever he said, he judged himself from her point of view.
Princess Marya reluctantly, as always happens, began to tell him about the state in which she had found Prince Andrei. But Pierre’s questions, his animatedly restless glance, his face trembling with emotion, gradually made her go into details which, on her own, she had been afraid to renew in her imagination.
“Yes, yes,