wn back into the realm of delirium。 The soft murmuring voice kept up its rhythmic whisper； something was oppressing him； and rising up； and the strange face stood before him。 Prince Andrey rallied all his forces to regain his senses； he stirred a little； and suddenly there was a ringing in his ears and a dimness before his eyes； and like a man sinking under water； he lost consciousness。
When he came to himself； Natasha； the very living Natasha； whom of all people in the world he most longed to love with that new； pure； divine love that had now been revealed to him； was on her knees before him。 He knew that it was the real； living Natasha； and did not wonder； but quietly rejoiced。 Natasha； on her knees； in terror； but without moving （she could not have moved）； gazed at him； restraining her sobs。 Her face was white and rigid。 There was only a sort of quiver in the lower part of it。
Prince Andrey drew a sigh of relief； smiled； and held out his hand。
“You？” he said。 “What happiness！”
With a swift but circumspect movement； Natasha came nearer； still kneeling； and carefully taking his hand she bent her face over it and began kissing it； softly touching it with her lips。
“Forgive me！” she said in a whisper； lifting her head and glancing at him。 “Forgive me！”
“I love you；” said Prince Andrey。
“Forgive …”
“Forgive what？” asked Prince Andrey。
“Forgive me for what I di … id；” Natasha murmured in a hardly audible； broken whisper； and again and again she softly put her lips to his hand。
“I love thee more； better than before；” said Prince Andrey； lifting her face with his hand so that he could look into her eyes。
Those eyes； swimming with happy tears； gazed at him with timid commiseration and joyful love。 Natasha’s thin； pale face； with its swollen lips； was more than ugly—it looked terrible。 But Prince Andrey did not see her face； he saw the shining eyes； which were beautiful。 They heard talk behind them。
Pyotr； the valet； by now wide awake； had waked up the doctor。 Timohin； who had not slept all night for the pain in his leg； had been long watching all that was happening； and huddled up on his bench； carefully wrapping his bare person up in the sheet。
“Why； what’s this？” said the doctor； getting up from his bed on the floor。 “Kindly retire； madame。”
At that moment there was a knock at the door； a maid had been sent by the countess in search of her daughter。
Like a sleep…walker awakened in the midst of her trance； Natasha walked out of the room； and getting back to her hut； sank sobbing on her bed。
From that day at all the halts and resting…places on the remainder of the Rostovs’ journey； Natasha never left Bolkonsky’s side； and the doctor was forced to admit that he had not expected from a young girl so much fortitude； nor skill in nursing a wounded man。
Terrible as it was to the countess to think that Prince Andrey might （and very probably； too； from what the doctor said） die on the road in her daughter’s arms； she could not resist Natasha。 Although with the renewal of affectionate relations between Prince Andrey and Natasha the idea did occur that in case he recovered their old engagement would be renewed； no one—least of all Natasha and Prince Andrey—spoke of this。 The unsettled question of life and death hanging； not only over Prince Andrey； but over all Russia； shut off all other considerations。
Chapter 33
PIERRE waked up late on the 3rd of September。 His head ached； the clothes in which he had slept without undressing fretted his body； and he had a vague sense in his heart of something shameful he had done the evening before。 That something shameful was his talk with Captain Ramballe。
His watch told him it was eleven； but it seemed a particularly dull day。 Pierre stood up； rubbed his eyes； and seeing the pistol with its engraved stock—Gerasim had put it back on the writing…table—Pierre remembered where he was and what was in store for him that day
“Am I not too late already？” Pierre wondered。
No； probably he would not make his entry into Moscow before twelve o’clock。 Pierre did not allow himself to reflect on what lay before him； but made haste to act。
Setting his clothes to rights； Pierre took up the pistol and was about to set off。 But then for the first time it occurred to him to wonder how； if not in his hand； he was to carry the weapon in the street。 Even under his full coat it would be hard to conceal a big pistol。 It could not be put in his sash； nor under his arm； without being noticeable。 Moreover； the pistol was now unloaded； and Pierre could not succeed in reloading it in time。 “The dagger will do as well；” Pierre said to himself； though； in considering how he should carry out his design； he had more than once decided that the great mistake made by the student in 1809 was that he had tried to kill Napoleon with a dagger。 But Pierre’s chief aim seemed to be； not so much to succeed in his project； as to prove to himself that he was not renouncing his design； but was doing everything to carry it out。 Pierre hurriedly took the blunt； notched dagger in a green scabbard； which he had bought； together with the pistol； at the Suharev Tower； and hid it under his waistcoat。
Tying the sash round his peasant’s coat； and pulling his cap forward； Pierre walked along the corridor； trying to avoid making a noise and meeting the captain； and slipped out into the street。
The fire； at which he had gazed so indifferently the evening before； had sensibly increased during the night。 Moscow was on fire at various points。 There were fires at the same time in Carriage Row； Zamoskvoryetche； the Bazaar； and Povarsky； and the timber market near Dorogomilov bridge and the barges in the river Moskva were in a blaze。
Pierre’s way lay across a side street to Povarsky； and from there across Arbaty to the chapel of Nikola Yavlenny； where he had long before in his fancy fixed on the spot at which the deed ought to be done。 Most of the houses had their gates and shutters closed。 The streets and lanes were deserted； there was a smell of burning and smoke in the air。 Now and then he met Russians with uneasy and timid faces； and Frenchmen with a look of the camp about them； walking in the middle of the road。 Both looked at Pierre with surprise。 Apart from his great height and stoutness； and the look of gloomy concentration and suffering in his face and whole figure； Russians stared at Pierre because they could not make out to what class he belonged。 Frenchmen looked after him with surprise； because； while all other Russians stared timidly and inquisitively at them； Pierre walked by without noticing them。 At the gates of a house； three Frenchmen； disputing about something with some Russians； who did not understand their meaning； stopped Pierre to ask whether he knew French。
Pierre shook his head and walked on。 In another lane a sentinel； on guard by a green caisson； shouted at him； and it was only at the repetition of his menacing shout； and the sound of his picking up his gun； that Pierre grasped that he ought to have passed the street on the other side。 He heard and saw nothing around him。 With haste and horror he bore within him his intention as something strange and fearful to him； fearing—from the experience of the previous night—to lose it。 But Pierre was not destined to carry his design in safety to the spot to which he was bending his steps。 Moreover； if he had not been detained on the road； his design could not have been carried out； because Napoleon had four hours earlier left the Dorogomilov suburb； and crossed Arbaty to the Kremlin； and he was by then sitting in the royal study in the Kremlin palace in the gloomiest temper； giving circumstantial orders for immediately extinguishing the fires； preventing pillage； and reassuring the inhabitants。 But Pierre knew nothing of that； entirely engrossed in what lay before him； he was suffering the anguish men suffer when they persist in undertaking a task impossible for them—not from its inherent difficulties； but from its incompatibility with their own nature。 He was tortured by the dread that he would be weak at the decisive moment； and so would lose his respect for himself。
Though he saw and heard nothing around him； he instinctively found his way； and took the right turning to reach Povarsky。
As Pierre got nearer to Povarsky Street； the smoke grew thicker and thicker； and the air was positively warm from the heat of the conflagration。 Tongues of flame shot up here and there behind the house…tops。 He met more people in the streets； and these people were in great excitement。 But though Pierre felt that something unusual was happening around him； he did not grasp the fact that he was getting near the fire。 As he walked along a path； across the large open space adjoining on one side Povarsky Street； and on the other side the gardens of Prince Gruzinsky； Pierre suddenly heard close by him the sound of a woman； crying desperately。 He stood still； as though awakened from a dream； and raised his head。
On the dried…up； dusty grass on one side of the path lay heaps of household belongings piled up： feather…beds； a samovar； holy images； and boxes。 On the ground； near the boxes； sat a thin woman； no longer young； with long； projecting front teeth； dressed in a black cloak and cap。 This woman was weeping violently； swaying to and fro； and muttering something。 Two little girls； from ten to twelve years old； dressed in dirty； short frocks and cloaks； were gazing at their mother； with an expression of stupefaction on their pale； frightened faces。 A little boy of seven； in a coat and a huge cap； obviously not his own； was crying in an old nurse’s arms。 A bare…legged； dirty servant…girl was sitting on a chest； she had let down her flaxen hair； and was pulling out the singed hairs； sniffing at them。 The husband； a short； stooping man； in a uniform； with little； wheel…shaped whiskers； and smooth locks of hair； peeping out from under his cap； which was stuck erect on his head； was moving the chests from under one another with an immovable face； dragging garments of some sort from under them。
The woman almost flung herself at Pierre’s feet as soon as she saw him。
“Merciful heavens； good Christian folk； save me； help me； kind sir！ … somebody； help me；” she a