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Updated: June 10, 2025
She told them how afraid she had been of Nicholas because he had on a corded jacket and her nurse had told her that she, too, would be sewn up with cords. "And I remember their telling me that you had been born under a cabbage," said Natasha, "and I remember that I dared not disbelieve it then, but knew that it was not true, and I felt so uncomfortable."
"To tell Pierre? Oh, yes. What a splendid man he is!" said Princess Mary. "Do you know, Mary..." Natasha suddenly said with a mischievous smile such as Princess Mary had not seen on her face for a long time, "he has somehow grown so clean, smooth, and fresh as if he had just come out of a Russian bath; do you understand? Out of a moral bath. Isn't it true?" "Yes," replied Princess Mary.
To such an extent had Natasha let herself go that the way she dressed and did her hair, her ill-chosen words, and her jealousy she was jealous of Sonya, of the governess, and of every woman, pretty or plain were habitual subjects of jest to those about her. The general opinion was that Pierre was under his wife's thumb, which was really true.
I have no other friend like her and never shall have. Why should she marry? We might always drive about together!" "What a darling this Nicholas of mine is!" thought Natasha. "Ah, there are still lights in the drawingroom!" she said, pointing to the windows of the house that gleamed invitingly in the moist velvety darkness of the night.
"I see you were right, but just take out the top one." "I won't!" cried Natasha, with one hand holding back the hair that hung over her perspiring face, while with the other she pressed down the carpets. "Now press, Petya! Press, Vasilich, press hard!" she cried. The carpets yielded and the lid closed; Natasha, clapping her hands, screamed with delight and tears fell from her eyes.
Then there was a sound of gruff guttural voices in the entrance-hall, and the next moment the door of the room was thrown open, and Soudeikin walked in, followed by a young man in the uniform of a lieutenant of the line, and after them came two soldiers, to one of whom was handcuffed the Princess Ornovski, and to the other Natasha.
Natasha looked at her with eyes full of tears and in her look there was nothing but love and an entreaty for forgiveness. "My darling Mummy!" she repeated, straining all the power of her love to find some way of taking on herself the excess of grief that crushed her mother.
Natasha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt whether to say all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that before those luminous eyes which penetrated into the very depths of her heart, it was impossible not to tell the whole truth which she saw. And suddenly, Natasha's lips twitched, ugly wrinkles gathered round her mouth, and covering her face with her hands she burst into sobs.
Now that he was telling it all to Natasha he experienced that pleasure which a man has when women listen to him not clever women who when listening either try to remember what they hear to enrich their minds and when opportunity offers to retell it, or who wish to adopt it to some thought of their own and promptly contribute their own clever comments prepared in their little mental workshop but the pleasure given by real women gifted with a capacity to select and absorb the very best a man shows of himself.
But as she passed the sitting room she noticed two couples sitting, one pair at each window. She stopped and smiled scornfully. Sonya was sitting close to Nicholas who was copying out some verses for her, the first he had ever written. Boris and Natasha were at the other window and ceased talking when Vera entered. Sonya and Natasha looked at Vera with guilty, happy faces.
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