War and Peace

árya Dmítrievna, having found Sónya weeping in the corridor, made her
confess everything, and intercepting the note to Natásha she read it and
went into Natásha’s room with it in her hand.

“You shameless good-for-nothing!” said she. “I won’t hear a word.”

Pushing back Natásha who looked at her with astonished but tearless
eyes, she locked her in; and having given orders to the yard porter to
admit the persons who would be coming that evening, but not to let them
out again, and having told the footman to bring them up to her, she
seated herself in the drawing room to await the abductors.

When Gabriel came to inform her that the men who had come had run
away again, she rose frowning, and clasping her hands behind her paced
through the rooms a long time considering what she should do. Toward
midnight she went to Natásha’s room fingering the key in her pocket.
Sónya was sitting sobbing in the corridor. “Márya Dmítrievna, for God’s
sake let me in to her!” she pleaded, but Márya Dmítrievna unlocked
the door and went in without giving her an answer.... “Disgusting,
abominable... In my house... horrid girl, hussy! I’m only sorry for her
father!” thought she, trying to restrain her wrath. “Hard as it may
be, I’ll tell them all to hold their tongues and will hide it from the
count.” She entered the room with resolute steps. Natásha lying on the
sofa, her head hidden in her hands, and she did not stir. She was in
just the same position in which Márya Dmítrievna had left her.

“A nice girl! Very nice!” said Márya Dmítrievna. “Arranging meetings
with lovers in my house! It’s no use pretending: you listen when I speak
to you!” And Márya Dmítrievna touched her arm. “Listen when I speak!
You’ve disgraced yourself like the lowest of hussies. I’d treat you
differently, but I’m sorry for your father, so I will conceal it.”

Natásha did not change her position, but her whole body heaved with
noiseless, convulsive sobs which choked her. Márya Dmítrievna glanced
round at Sónya and seated herself on the sofa beside Natásha.

“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 Natásha’s face and turned it toward her.
Both Márya Dmítrievna and Sónya were amazed when they saw how Natásha
looked. Her eyes were dry and glistening, her lips compressed, her
cheeks sunken.

“Let me be!... What is it to me?... I shall die!” she muttered,
wrenching herself from Márya Dmítrievna’s hands with a vicious effort
and sinking down again into her former position.

“Natalie!” said Márya Dmítrievna. “I wish for your good. Lie still,
stay like that then, I won’t touch you. But listen. I won’t tell you how
guilty you are. You know that yourself. But when your father comes back
tomorrow what am I to tell him? Eh?”

Again Natásha’s body shook with sobs.

“Suppose he finds out, and your brother, and your betrothed?”

“I have no betrothed: I have refused him!” cried Natásha.

“That’s all the same,” continued Márya Dmítrievna. “If they hear of
this, will they let it pass? He, your father, I know him... if he
challenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?”

“Oh, let me be! Why have you interfered at all? Why? Why? Who asked
you to?” shouted Natásha, raising herself on the sofa and looking
malignantly at Márya Dmítrievna.

“But what did you want?” cried Márya Dmítrievna, growing angry again.
“Were you kept under lock and key? Who hindered his coming to the house?
Why carry you off as if you were some gypsy singing girl?... Well, if he
had carried you off... do you think they wouldn’t have found him?
Your father, or brother, or your betrothed? And he’s a scoundrel, a
wretch—that’s a fact!”

“He is better than any of you!” exclaimed Natásha getting up. “If you
hadn’t interfered... Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it? Sónya,
why?... Go away!”

And she burst into sobs with the despairing vehemence with which people
bewail disasters they feel they have themselves occasioned. Márya
Dmítrievna was to speak again but Natásha cried out:

“Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!” and she threw herself
back on the sofa.

Márya Dmítrievna went on admonishing her for some time, enjoining on her
that it must all be kept from her father and assuring her that nobody
would know anything about it if only Natásha herself would undertake
to forget it all and not let anyone see that something had happened.
Natásha did not reply, nor did she sob any longer, but she grew cold
and had a shivering fit. Márya Dmítrievna put a pillow under her head,
covered her with two quilts, and herself brought her some lime-flower
water, but Natásha did not respond to her.

“Well, let her sleep,” said Márya Dmítrievna as she went out of the room
supposing Natásha to be asleep.

But Natásha was not asleep; with pale face and fixed wide-open eyes she
looked straight before her. All that night she did not sleep or weep and
did not speak to Sónya who got up and went to her several times.

Next day Count Rostóv returned from his estate near Moscow in time for
lunch as he had promised. He was in very good spirits; the affair with
the purchaser was going on satisfactorily, and there was nothing to keep
him any longer in Moscow, away from the countess whom he missed. Márya
Dmítrievna met him and told him that Natásha had been very unwell the
day before and that they had sent for the doctor, but that she was
better now. Natásha had not left her room that morning. With compressed
and parched lips and dry fixed eyes, she sat at the window, uneasily
watching the people who drove past and hurriedly glancing round at
anyone who entered the room. She was evidently expecting news of him and
that he would come or would write to her.

When the count came to see her she turned anxiously round at the sound
of a man’s footstep, and then her face resumed its cold and malevolent
expression. She did not even get up to greet him. “What is the matter
with you, my angel? Are you ill?” asked the count.

After a moment’s silence Natásha 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. Márya Dmítrievna
confirmed Natásha’s assurances that nothing had happened. From
the pretense of illness, from his daughter’s distress, and by the
embarrassed faces of Sónya and Márya Dmítrievna, the count saw clearly
that something had gone wrong during his absence, but it was so terrible
for him to think that anything disgraceful had happened to his beloved
daughter, and he so prized his own cheerful tranquillity, that he
avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself that nothing particularly
had happened; and he was only dissatisfied that her indisposition
delayed their return to the country.