"You won't ask," Natasha's little brother was saying; "I know you won't ask!"
What sweets are we going to have? and Natasha's voice sounded still more firm and resolute.
Natasha's face, which had been so radiantly happy all that saint's day, suddenly changed: her eyes became fixed, and then a shiver passed down her broad neck and the corners of her mouth drooped.
For a moment he dozed, but in that short interval innumerable things appeared to him in a dream: his mother and her large white hand, Sonya's thin little shoulders, Natasha's eyes and laughter, Denisov with his voice and mustache, and Telyanin and all that affair with Telyanin and Bogdanich.
"And I know why she'd be ashamed," said Petya, offended by Natasha's previous remark.
"It's because she was in love with that fat one in spectacles" (that was how Petya described his namesake, the new Count Bezukhov) "and now she's in love with that singer" (he meant Natasha's Italian singing master), "that's why she's ashamed!"
Denisov blushed too, but smiled and, taking Natasha's hand, kissed it.
It's nearly ten o'clock, answered Natasha's voice.
Natasha's voice was again heard at the door.
Come out in your dressing gown! said Natasha's voice.
Sitting on the sofa with the little cushions on its arms, in what used to be his old schoolroom, and looking into Natasha's wildly bright eyes, Rostov re-entered that world of home and childhood which had no meaning for anyone else, but gave him some of the best joys of his life; and the burning of an arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not seem to him senseless, he understood and was not surprised at it.
Her looks asked him to forgive her for having dared, by Natasha's intermediacy, to remind him of his promise, and then thanked him for his love.
Natasha's prediction proved true.
"Where would I not go at the countess' command!" said Denisov, who at the Rostovs' had jocularly assumed the role of Natasha's knight.
When it came to Natasha's turn to choose a partner, she rose and, tripping rapidly across in her little shoes trimmed with bows, ran timidly to the corner where Denisov sat.
Boris kissed Natasha's hand and said that he was astonished at the change in her.
"I should think so!" replied Natasha's laughing eyes.
The countess finished her prayers and came to the bed with a stern face, but seeing, that Natasha's head was covered, she smiled in her kind, weak way.
These visits of Natasha's at night before the count returned from his club were one of the greatest pleasures of both mother, and daughter.
I can't do it like that, said the maid who was holding Natasha's hair.
The cause of the delay was Natasha's skirt, which was too long.
The strains of the polonaise, which had continued for a considerable time, had begun to sound like a sad reminiscence to Natasha's ears.
The despairing, dejected expression of Natasha's face caught his eye.
That tremulous expression on Natasha's face, prepared either for despair or rapture, suddenly brightened into a happy, grateful, childlike smile.
Read them... said her mother, thoughtfully, referring to some verses Prince Andrew had written in Natasha's album.
He kissed the countess' hand and Natasha's, and sat down beside the sofa.
From that day Prince Andrew began to frequent the Rostovs' as Natasha's affianced lover.
No betrothal ceremony took place and Natasha's engagement to Bolkonski was not announced; Prince Andrew insisted on that.
In 1810 he received letters from his parents, in which they told him of Natasha's engagement to Bolkonski, and that the wedding would be in a year's time because the old prince made difficulties.
"A hare's track, a lot of tracks!" rang out Natasha's voice through the frost-bound air.
On Natasha's table stood two looking glasses which Dunyasha had prepared beforehand.
Sonya heard this and Natasha's whisper:
Natasha's trousseau had to be ordered and the house sold.
Moreover, everybody knew vaguely of Natasha's engagement to Prince Andrew, and knew that the Rostovs had lived in the country ever since, and all looked with curiosity at a fiancee who was making one of the best matches in Russia.
Natasha's looks, as everyone told her, had improved in the country, and that evening thanks to her agitation she was particularly pretty.
She did not cease chattering good-naturedly and gaily, continually praising Natasha's beauty.
She looked at Natasha's dresses and praised them, as well as a new dress of her own made of "metallic gauze," which she had received from Paris, and advised Natasha to have one like it.
A smile of pleasure never left Natasha's face.
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.
When she saw Natasha's fright, Sonya shed tears of shame and pity for her friend.
The more emotional and ingratiating the expression of Natasha's face became, the more serious and stern grew Sonya's.
Anger again showed in Natasha's face.
After tea Sonya noticed a housemaid at Natasha's door timidly waiting to let her pass.
The plan for Natalie Rostova's abduction had been arranged and the preparations made by Dolokhov a few days before, and on the day that Sonya, after listening at Natasha's door, resolved to safeguard her, it was to have been put into execution.
Marya Dmitrievna, having found Sonya weeping in the corridor, made her confess everything, and intercepting the note to Natasha she read it and went into Natasha's room with it in her hand.
Toward midnight she went to Natasha's room fingering the key in her pocket.
She put her large hand under Natasha's face and turned it toward her.
Again Natasha's body shook with sobs.
Marya Dmitrievna confirmed Natasha's assurances that nothing had happened.
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.