Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace 585

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Emma Watson Pussy


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War And Peace

sigh, and her gesture conveyed a contradiction of her words. "Where is he? Can I see him--can I?" asked the princess. "One moment, Princess, one moment, my dear! Is this his son?" said the countess, turning to little Nicholas who was coming in with Dessalles. "There will be room for everybody, this is a big house. Oh, what a lovely boy!" The countess took Princess Mary into the drawing room, where Sonya was talking to Mademoiselle Bourienne. The countess caressed the boy, and the old count came in and welcomed the princess. He had changed very much since Princess Mary had last seen him. Then he had been a brisk, cheerful, self-assured old man; now he seemed a pitiful, bewildered person. While talking to Princess Mary he continually looked round as if asking everyone whether he was doing the right thing. After the destruction of Moscow and of his property, thrown out of his accustomed groove he seemed to have lost the sense of his own significance and to feel that there was no longer a place for him in life. In spite of her one desire to see her brother as soon as possible, and her vexation that at the moment when all she wanted was to see him they should be trying to entertain her and pretending to admire her nephew, the princess noticed all that was going on around her and felt the necessity of submitting, for a time, to this new order of things which she had entered. She knew it to be necessary, and though it was hard for her she was not vexed with these people. "This is my niece," said the count, introducing Sonya--"You dont know her, Princess?" Princess Mary turned to Sonya and, trying to stifle the hostile feeling that arose in her toward the girl, she kissed her. But she felt oppressed by the fact that the mood of everyone around her was so far from what was in her own heart. "Where is he?" she asked again, addressing them all. "He is downstairs. Natasha is with him," answered Sonya, flushing. "We have sent to ask. I think you must be tired, Princess." Tears of vexation showed themselves in Princess Marys eyes. She turned away and was about to ask the countess again how to go to him, when light, impetuous, and seemingly buoyant steps were heard at the door. The princess looked round and saw Natasha coming in, almost running--that Natasha whom she had liked so little at their meeting in Moscow long since. But hardly had the princess looked at Natashas face before she realized that here was a real comrade in her grief, and consequently a friend. She ran to meet her, embraced her, and began to cry on her shoulder. As soon as Natasha, sitting at the head of Prince Andrews bed, heard of Princess Marys arrival, she softly left his room and hastened to her with those swift steps that had sounded buoyant to Princess Mary. There was only one expression on her agitated face when she ran into the drawing room--that of love--boundless love for him, for her, and for all that was near to the man she loved; and of pity, suffering for others, and passionate desire to give herself entirely to helping them. It was plain that at that moment there was in Natashas heart no thought of herself or of her own relations with Prince Andrew. Princess Mary, with her acute sensibility, understood all this at the first glance at Natashas face, and wept on her shoulder with sorrowful pleasure. "Come, come to him, Mary," said Natasha, leading her into the other room. Princess Mary raised her head, dried her eyes, and turned to Natasha. She felt that from her she would be able to understand and learn everything. "How..." she began her question but stopped short. She felt that it was impossible to ask, or to answer, in words. Natashas face and eyes would have to tell her all more clearly and profoundly. Natasha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt whether to say all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that before those luminous eyes which penetrated into the very depths of her heart, it was impossible not to tell the whole truth which she saw. And suddenly, Natashas lips twitched, ugly wrinkles gathered round her mouth, and covering her face with her hands she burst into sobs. Princess Mary understood. But she still hoped, and asked, in words she herself did not trust: "But how is his wound? What is his general condition?" "You, you... will see," was all

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