War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy [725]
Natasha’s face twitched. She frowned and momentarily lowered her eyes. For about a minute she hesitated whether she should speak or not.
“Yes, it was happy,” she said in a soft, chesty voice, “for me it certainly was happy.” She paused. “And he…he…he said that he was wishing for it at the same moment that I came to him…” Natasha’s voice broke. She blushed, pressed her hands to her knees, and all at once, obviously making an effort with herself, raised her head and began speaking quickly:
“We knew nothing as we were leaving Moscow. I didn’t dare ask about him. And suddenly Sonya told me he was with us. I didn’t think anything, I couldn’t imagine what state he was in, I only needed to see him, to be with him,” she said, trembling and breathless. And, not letting them interrupt her, she told what she had never yet told anyone: all that she had lived through during those three weeks of their journey and life in Yaroslavl.
Pierre listened to her openmouthed, not taking his tear-filled eyes from her. Listening to her, he did not think of Prince Andrei, or of death, or of what she was telling. He listened to her and simply pitied her for the suffering she was experiencing now, as she spoke.
The princess, wincing from the desire to hold back her tears, sat beside Natasha and for the first time listened to the story of those last days of the love between her brother and Natasha.
This tormenting and joyful story was evidently necessary for Natasha.
She spoke, mixing the most trifling details with her innermost secrets, and it seemed she could never finish. She repeated the same things several times.
Dessales’s voice was heard outside the door asking whether Nikolushka could come in to say good night.
“Well, that’s all, that’s all…” said Natasha. She quickly stood up, just as Nikolushka was coming in, and almost ran to the door, bumped her head against the door, which was covered by a curtain, and with a moan either of pain or of sorrow, burst out of the room.
Pierre looked at the door through which she had gone and could not understand why he was suddenly left all alone in the world.
Princess Marya called him out of his distraction, drawing his attention to her nephew, who had come into the room.
Nikolushka’s face, which resembled his father’s, so affected Pierre in that moment of inner softening in which he now found himself, that, having kissed him, he got up hastily, took out his handkerchief, and went over to the window. He wanted to take leave of Princess Marya, but she kept him.
“No, Natasha and I sometimes don’t go to bed till after two; please stay. I’ll order supper served. Go downstairs; we’ll come presently.”
Before Pierre went out, the princess said to him:
“It’s the first time she’s spoken of him like that.”
XVII
Pierre was taken to the big, well-lit dining room; a few minutes later footsteps were heard, and the princess and Natasha came into the room. Natasha was calm, though a stern, unsmiling expression had again settled on her face. Princess Marya, Natasha, and Pierre equally experienced that feeling of awkwardness that usually follows the end of a serious and heartfelt talk. To go on with the previous conversation is impossible, to talk about trifles is shameful, and to be silent is unpleasant, because one wants to talk, and this silence is like a pretence. They silently went to the table. The servants moved chairs out and in. Pierre unfolded the cool napkin and, deciding to break the silence, glanced at Natasha and Princess Marya. They had both obviously just decided on the same thing: in the eyes of