ter…mother of her nephew； and independent mistress of her own destinies； Princess Marya was the first to be called back to life from that world of mourning in which she lived for the first fortnight。 She received letters from her relations which had to be answered； the room in which Nikolushka had been put was damp； and he had begun to cough。 Alpatitch came to Yaroslavl with accounts。 He had suggestions to make； and advised Princess Marya to move to Moscow to the house in Vozdvizhenka； which was uninjured； and only needed some trifling repairs。 Life would not stand still； and she had to live。 Painful as it was for Princess Marya to come out of that world of solitary contemplation； in which she had been living till then； and sorry； and； as it were； conscience…stricken； as she felt at leaving Natasha alone； the duties of daily life claimed her attention； and against her own will she had to give herself up to them。 She went through the accounts with Alpatitch； consulted Dessalle about her little nephew； and began to make preparations for moving to Moscow。
Natasha was left alone； and from the time that Princess Marya began to busy herself with preparations for her journey； she held aloof from her too。
Princess Marya asked the countess to let Natasha come to stay with her in Moscow； and both mother and father eagerly agreed to her suggestion； for they saw their daughter’s physical strength failing every day； and they hoped that change of scene and the advice of Moscow doctors might do her good。
“I am not going anywhere；” answered Natasha； when the suggestion was made to her； “all I ask is； please let me alone；” she said； and she ran out of the room； hardly able to restrain tears more of vexation and anger than of sorrow。
Since she felt herself deserted by Princess Marya； and alone in her grief； Natasha had spent most of her time alone in her room； huddled up in a corner of her sofa。 While her slender； nervous fingers were busy twisting or tearing something； she kept her eyes fixed in a set stare on the first object that met them。 This solitude exhausted and tortured her； but it was what she needed。 As soon as any one went in to her； she got up quickly； changed her attitude and expression； and picked up a book or some needlework； obviously waiting with impatience for the intruder to leave her。
It seemed to her continually that she was on the very verge of understanding； of penetrating to the mystery on which her spiritual vision was fastened with a question too terrible for her to bear。
One day towards the end of December； Natasha； thin and pale in a black woollen gown； with her hair fastened up in a careless coil； sat perched up in the corner of her sofa； her fingers nervously crumpling and smoothing out the ends of her sash； while she gazed at the corner of the door。
She was inwardly gazing whither he had gone； to that further shore。 And that shore； of which she had never thought in old days； which had seemed to her so far away； so incredible； was now closer to her； and more her own； more comprehensible than this side of life； in which all was emptiness and desolation or suffering and humiliation。
She was gazing into that world where she knew he was。 But she could not see him； except as he had been here on earth。 She was seeing him again as he had been at Mytishtchy； at Troitsa； at Yaroslavl。
She was seeing his face； hearing his voice； and repeating his words； and words of her own that she had put into his mouth； and sometimes imagining fresh phrases for herself and him which could only have been uttered in the past。
Now she saw him as he had once been； lying on a low chair in his velvet； fur…lined cloak； his head propped on his thin； pale hand。 His chest looked fearfully hollow； and his shoulders high。 His lips were firmly closed； his eyes shining； and there was a line on his white brow that came and vanished again。 There was a rapid tremor just perceptible in one foot。 Natasha knew he was struggling to bear horrible pain。 “What was that pain like？ Why was it there？ What was he feeling？ How did it hurt？” Natasha had wondered。 He had noticed her attention； raised his eyes； and； without smiling； began to speak。
“One thing would be awful；” he said： “to bind oneself for ever to a suffering invalid。 It would be an everlasting torture。” And he had looked with searching eyes at her。 Natasha； as she always did； had answered without giving herself time to think； she had said： “It can’t go on like this； it won’t be so； you will get well—quite well。”
She was seeing him now as though it were the first time； and going through all she had felt at that time。 She recalled the long； mournful； stern gaze he had given her at those words； and she understood all the reproach and the despair in that prolonged gaze。
“I agreed；” Natasha said to herself now； “that it would be awful if he were to remain always suffering。 I said that then only because it would be so awful for him； but he did not understand it so。 He thought that it would be awful for me。 Then he still wanted to live； and was afraid of death。 And I said it so clumsily； so stupidly。 I was not thinking that。 I was thinking something quite different。 If I had said what I was thinking； I should have said： ‘Let him be dying； dying all the time before my eyes； and I should be happy in comparison with what I am now。’ Now … there is nothing； no one。 Did he know that？ No。 He did not know； and never will know it。 And now it can never； never be made up for。”
And again he was saying the same words； but this time Natasha in her imagination made him a different answer。 She stopped him； and said： “Awful for you； but not for me。 You know that I have nothing in life but you； and to suffer with you is the greatest happiness possible for me。” And he took her hand and pressed it； just as he had pressed it on that terrible evening four days before his death。 And in her imagination she said to him other words of tenderness and love； which she might have said then； which she only said now … “I love thee！ … thee … I love； love thee …” she said； wringing her hands convulsively； and setting her teeth with bitter violence。
And a sweeter mood of sorrow was coming over her； and tears were starting into her eyes； but all at once she asked herself： “To whom was she saying that？ Where is he； and what is he now？”
And again everything was shrouded in chill； cruel doubt； and again； frowning nervously； she tried to gaze into that world where he was。 And now； now； she thought； she was just penetrating the mystery … But at that instant； when the incomprehensible； it seemed； was being unveiled before her eyes； a loud rattle at the door handle broke with a painful shock on her hearing。 Her maid； Dunyasha； rushed quickly and abruptly into the room with frightened eyes； that took no heed of her。
“Come to your papa； make haste；” Dunyasha said； with a strange excited expression。 “A misfortune … Pyotr Ilyitch … a letter；” she gasped out； sobbing。
Chapter 2
THE FEELING of aloofness from all the world； that Natasha experienced at this time； she felt in an even more marked degree with the members of her own family。 All her own family； her father and mother and Sonya； were so near her； so everyday and ordinary that every word they uttered； every feeling they expressed； was jarring in the world in which she had lived of late。 She felt more than indifference； positive hostility to them。 She heard Dunyasha’s words of Pyotr Ilyitch； of a misfortune； but she did not understand them。
“What misfortune could they have； what misfortune is possible to them？ Everything goes on in its old； regular； easy way with them；” Natasha was saying inwardly。
As she went into the drawing…room； her father came quickly out of the countess’s room。 His face was puckered up and wet with tears。 He had evidently run out of the room to give vent to the sobs that were choking him。 Seeing Natasha； he waved his arms in despair； and went off into violent； miserable sobs； that convulsed his soft； round face。
“Pet … Petya … Go； go in； she’s calling …” And sobbing like a child； he tottered with feeble legs to a chair； and almost dropped on to it； hiding his face in his hands。
An electric shock seemed to run all through Natasha。 Some fearful pain seemed to stab her to the heart。 She felt a poignant anguish； it seemed to her that something was being rent within her； and she was dying。 But with the pain she felt an instant release from the seal that shut her out of life。 At the sight of her father； and the sound of a fearful； husky scream from her mother through the door； she instantly forgot herself and her own sorrow。
She ran up to her father； but he feebly motioned her towards her mother’s door。 Princess Marya； with a white face and quivering lower jaw； came out and took Natasha’s hand； saying something to her。 Natasha neither saw nor heard her。 With swift steps she went towards the door； stopped for an instant as though struggling with herself； and ran in to her mother。
The countess was lying down on a low chair in a strange awkward attitude； she was beating her head against the wall。 Sonya and some maid…servants were holding her by the arms。
“Natasha； Natasha！…” the countess was screaming。 “It’s not true； not true … it’s false … Natasha！” she screamed； pushing the maids away。 “All you go away； it’s not true！ Killed！…ha； ha； ha！…not true！…”
Natasha knelt down on the low chair； bent over her mother； embraced her； with surprising strength lifted her up； turned her face to her； and pressed close to her。
“Mama！ … darling！ … I’m here； dearest mamma；” she whispered to her； never ceasing for a second。
She would not let her mother go； she struggled tenderly with her； asked for pillows and water； unbuttoned and tore open her mother’s dress。 “Dearest … my darling … mamma … my precious；” she whispered without pausing； kissing her head； her hands； her face； and feeling the tears streaming in irrepressible floods over her nose and cheeks。
The countess squeezed her daughter’s hand； closed her eyes； and was quieter for a moment。 All at once she sat up with unnatural swiftness； looked vacantly round； and seeing Natasha； began hugging her head to her with all her might。 Natasha’s face involuntari