‘O Sonya, oh, if you could only know how happy I am!’ said Natasha. ‘You don’t know what love . . .’
‘But, Natasha, you can’t mean that all that is over?’
Natasha looked with her big, wide eyes at Sonya as though not understanding her question.
‘Are you breaking it off with Prince Andrey then?’ said Sonya.
‘Oh, you don’t understand; don’t talk nonsense; listen,’ said Natasha, with momentary annoyance.
‘No, I can’t believe it,’ repeated Sonya. ‘I don’t understand it. What, for a whole year you have been loving one man, and all at once . . . Why, you have only seen him three times. Natasha, I can’t believe you, you’re joking. In three days to forget everything, and like this . . .’
‘Three days,’ Natasha. ‘It seems to me as though I had loved him for a hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved any one before him. You can’t understand that. Sonya, stay, sit here.’ Natasha hugged and kissed her. ‘I have been told of its happening, and no doubt you have heard of it too, but it’s only now that I have felt such love. It’s not what I have felt before. As soon as I saw him, I felt that he was my sovereign and I was his slave, and that I could not help loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he bids me, I shall do. You don’t understand that. What am I to do? What am I to do, Sonya?’ said Natasha, with a blissful and frightened face.
‘But only think what you are doing,’ said Sonya. ‘I can’t leave it like this. These secret letters . . . How could you let him go so far as that?’ she said, with a horror and aversion she could with difficulty conceal.
‘I have told you,’ answered Natasha, ‘that I have no will. How is it you don’t understand that? I love him!’
‘Then I can’t let it go on like this. I shall, tell about it,’ cried Sonya, with a burst of tears.
‘What ... for God’s sake ... If you tell, you are my enemy,’ said Natasha. ‘You want to make me miserable, and you want us to be separated . . .’
WAR AND PEACE 545
On seeing Natasha’s alarm, Sonya wept tears of shame and pity for her friend.
‘But what has passed between you?’ she asked. ‘What has he said to you? Why doesn’t he come to the house?’
NStasha made no answer to her question.
‘For God’s sake, Sonya, don’t tell any one; don’t torture me,’ Natasha implored her. ‘Remember that it doesn't do to meddle in such matters. I have told you . . .’
‘But why this secrecy? Why doesn’t he come to the house?’ Sonya persisted. ‘Why doesn’t he ask for your hand straight out? Prince Andrey, you know, gave you complete liberty, if it really is so; but I can’t believe in it. Natasha, have you thought what the secret reasons can be?’
Natasha looked with wondering eyes at Sonya. Evidently it was the first time that question had presented itself to her, and she did not know how to answer it.
‘What the reasons are, I don’t know. But there must be reasons! ’
Sonya sighed and shook her head distrustfully.
‘If there were reasons . . .’ she was beginning. But Natasha, divining her doubts, interrupted her in dismay.
‘Sonya, you mustn’t doubt of him; you mustn’t, you mustn't! Do you understand?’ she cried.
‘Does he love you?’
‘Does he love me?’ repeated Natasha, with a smile of compassion for her friend’s dulness of comprehension. ‘Why, you have read his letter, haven’t you? You’ve seen him.’
‘But if he is a dishonourable man?’
‘He! ... a dishonourable man? If only you knew!’ said Natasha.
‘If he is an honourable man, he ought either to explain his intentions, or to give up seeing you; and if you won’t do that, I will do it. I’ll write to him. I’ll tell papa,’ said Sonya resolutely.
‘But I can’t live without him!’ cried Natasha.
‘Natasha, I don’t understand you. And what are you saying? Think of your father, of Nikolenka.’
‘I don’t care for any one, I don't love any one but him. How dare you say he’s dishonourable! Don't you know that I love him?’ cried Natasha. ‘Sonya, go away; I don’t want to quarrel with you; go away, for God's sake, go away; you see how wretched I am,’ cried Natasha angrily, in a voice of repressed irritation and despair. Sonya burst into sobs and ran out of the room.
Natasha went to the table, and without a moment’s reflection wrote that answer to Princess Marya, which she had been unable to w T rite all the morning. In her letter she told Princess Marya briefly that all misunderstandings between them were at an end, as taking advantage of the generosity of Prince Andrey, who had at parting given her full liberty, she begged her to forget everything and forgive her if she had been in fault in any way, but she could not be his wife. It all seemed to her so easy, so simple, and so clear at that moment.
The Rostovs were to return to the country on Friday, but on Wednesday the count went with the intending purchaser to his estate near Moscow.
