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Updated: May 10, 2025
We began disputing Pierre and I and I lost my temper. But he is impossible: such a child! I don't know what would become of him if Natasha didn't keep him in hand.... Have you any idea why he went to Petersburg? They have formed..." "Yes, I know," said Countess Mary. "Natasha told me."
Pierre saw that Prince Andrew was going to speak of Natasha, and his broad face expressed pity and sympathy. This expression irritated Prince Andrew, and in a determined, ringing, and unpleasant tone he continued: "I have received a refusal from Countess Rostova and have heard reports of your brother-in-law having sought her hand, or something of that kind. Is that true?"
But... just so." "Just so, just so," repeated the countess, and shaking all over, she went off into a good humored, unexpected, elderly laugh. "Don't laugh, stop!" cried Natasha. "You're shaking the whole bed!
I am afraid never.... It would be too good!" said Natasha, rising and going to the looking glasses. "Sit down, Natasha; perhaps you'll see him," said Sonya. Natasha lit the candles, one on each side of one of the looking glasses, and sat down. "I see someone with a mustache," said Natasha, seeing her own face. "You mustn't laugh, Miss," said Dunyasha.
In Marya Dmitrievna's anteroom the footman who helped him off with his fur coat said that the mistress asked him to come to her bedroom. When he opened the ballroom door Pierre saw Natasha sitting at the window, with a thin, pale, and spiteful face. She glanced round at him, frowned, and left the room with an expression of cold dignity.
Then tears poured from my eyes like a hailstorm, washing away from my heart much that was evil, much that war, stupid, much sorrow and dirt which had fastened upon it before that night. Natasha comforted me. "Come, come, that will do, little one! Don't take on! That'll do!
At that moment his home life, jokes with Petya, talks with Sonya, duets with Natasha, piquet with his father, and even his comfortable bed in the house on the Povarskaya rose before him with such vividness, clearness, and charm that it seemed as if it were all a lost and unappreciated bliss, long past.
"Well, dear heart," said he, "I wanted to tell you about it yesterday and I have come to do so today. I never experienced anything like it before. I am in love, my friend!" Suddenly Pierre heaved a deep sigh and dumped his heavy person down on the sofa beside Prince Andrew. "With Natasha Rostova, yes?" said he. "Yes, yes! Who else should it be?
"Platon Karataev?" he repeated, and pondered, evidently sincerely trying to imagine Karataev's opinion on the subject. "He would not have understood... yet perhaps he would." "I love you awfully!" Natasha suddenly said. "Awfully, awfully!" "No, he would not have approved," said Pierre, after reflection. "What he would have approved of is our family life.
And stay to dinner if you care to!" she called after Pierre. Pierre met the old count, who seemed nervous and upset. That morning Natasha had told him that she had rejected Bolkonski. "Troubles, troubles, my dear fellow!" he said to Pierre. "What troubles one has with these girls without their mother! I do so regret having come here.... I will be frank with you.
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