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Updated: June 25, 2025
He did not know that Natasha's soul was overflowing with despair, shame, and humiliation, and that it was not her fault that her face happened to assume an expression of calm dignity and severity. "But how get married?" said Pierre, in answer to Marya Dmitrievna. "He could not marry he is married!" "Things get worse from hour to hour!" ejaculated Marya Dmitrievna. "A nice youth! What a scoundrel!
For Denisov, too, the memories awakened by the name of Bolkonski belonged to a distant, romantic past, when after supper and after Natasha's singing he had proposed to a little girl of fifteen without realizing what he was doing. He smiled at the recollection of that time and of his love for Natasha, and passed at once to what now interested him passionately and exclusively.
On returning late in the evening Sonya went to Natasha's room, and to her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Open on the table, beside her lay Anatole's letter. Sonya picked it up and read it. As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natasha, trying to find in her face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not find it. Her face was calm, gentle, and happy.
The symptoms of Natasha's illness were that she ate little, slept little, coughed, and was always low-spirited. The doctors said that she could not get on without medical treatment, so they kept her in the stifling atmosphere of the town, and the Rostovs did not move to the country that summer of 1812.
But she soon ceased to follow the narrative and began to scrutinize the guests, unnoticed by them or her son. Pavel sat at Natasha's side. He was the handsomest of them all. Natasha bent down, very low over the book.
Pierre was agitated and undecided. Natasha's unwontedly brilliant eyes, continually glancing at him with a more than cordial look, had reduced him to this condition. "No, I think I'll go home." "Home?
Natasha's expression was in the highest degree quiet and concentrated, but under this quietness was at the same time concealed something else, which gave the impression that if which Heaven forbid! the old woman should at that moment awake, the other free hand would instantly seize her by the throat. At last the finger-ends felt something hard.
Natasha's wedding to Bezukhov, which took place in 1813, was the last happy event in the family of the old Rostovs. Count Ilya Rostov died that same year and, as always happens, after the father's death the family group broke up.
And as long as my sister Natasha was engaged to her brother it was of course out of the question for me to think of marrying her. And it must needs happen that I should meet her just when Natasha's engagement had been broken off... and then everything... So you see... I never told this to anyone and never will, only to you." The governor's wife pressed his elbow gratefully.
A sense of pity he had never before known overflowed Pierre's heart. "I will tell him, I will tell him everything once more," said Pierre. "But... I should like to know one thing...." "Know what?" Natasha's eyes asked. "I should like to know, did you love..." Pierre did not know how to refer to Anatole and flushed at the thought of him "did you love that bad man?"
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