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Updated: June 25, 2025
"It's lucky for him that he escaped me; but I'll find him!" she said in her rough voice. "Do you hear what I am saying or not?" she added. She put her large hand under Natasha's face and turned it toward her. Both Marya Dmitrievna and Sonya were amazed when they saw how Natasha looked. Her eyes were dry and glistening, her lips compressed, her cheeks sunken.
The strains of the polonaise, which had continued for a considerable time, had begun to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natasha's ears. She wanted to cry. Peronskaya had left them. The count was at the other end of the room. She and the countess and Sonya were standing by themselves as in the depths of a forest amid that crowd of strangers, with no one interested in them and not wanted by anyone.
But latterly, when more and more disquieting reports came from the seat of war and Natasha's health began to improve and she no longer aroused in him the former feeling of careful pity, an ever-increasing restlessness, which he could not explain, took possession of him.
And then such a death... without friends and without consolation! I am very, very sorry for her," he concluded, and was pleased to notice a look of glad approval on Natasha's face. "Yes, and so you are once more an eligible bachelor," said Princess Mary. Pierre suddenly flushed crimson and for a long time tried not to look at Natasha.
"You won't ask," Natasha's little brother was saying; "I know you won't ask!" "I will," replied Natasha. Her face suddenly flushed with reckless and joyous resolution. She half rose, by a glance inviting Pierre, who sat opposite, to listen to what was coming, and turning to her mother: "Mamma!" rang out the clear contralto notes of her childish voice, audible the whole length of the table.
After a moment's silence Natasha answered: "Yes, ill." In reply to the count's anxious inquiries as to why she was so dejected and whether anything had happened to her betrothed, she assured him that nothing had happened and asked him not to worry. Marya Dmitrievna confirmed Natasha's assurances that nothing had happened.
When Princess Mary returned to her room after her nocturnal talk with Pierre, Natasha met her on the threshold. "He has spoken? Yes? He has spoken?" she repeated. And a joyful yet pathetic expression which seemed to beg forgiveness for her joy settled on Natasha's face. "I wanted to listen at the door, but I knew you would tell me."
There's where the shoe pinches," continued the engraver, remembering the second half of Natasha's commission. "The passport yes that's where the shoe pinches!" he muttered to himself in perplexity, resting his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees.
The door, having let Petya in, closed again. A sound of laughter came from behind it. "Nicholas! Come out in your dressing gown!" said Natasha's voice. "Is this your saber?" asked Petya. "Or is it yours?" he said, addressing the black-mustached Denisov with servile deference. Rostov hurriedly put something on his feet, drew on his dressing gown, and went out.
Pierre dined at the club that day and heard on all sides gossip about the attempted abduction of Rostova. He resolutely denied these rumors, assuring everyone that nothing had happened except that his brother-in-law had proposed to her and been refused. It seemed to Pierre that it was his duty to conceal the whole affair and re-establish Natasha's reputation.
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