Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
repeated, and pondered, evidently sincerely
trying to imagine Karataevs opinion on the subject. "He would not
have understood... yet perhaps he would."
"I love you awfully!" Natasha suddenly said. "Awfully, awfully!"
"No, he would not have approved," said Pierre, after reflection.
"What he would have approved of is our family life. He was always so
anxious to find seemliness, happiness, and peace in everything, and
I should have been proud to let him see us. There now--you talk of
my absence, but you wouldnt believe what a special feeling I have for
you after a separation...."
"Yes, I should think..." Natasha began.
"No, its not that. I never leave off loving you. And one couldnt
love more, but this is something special.... Yes, of course-" he did
not finish because their eyes meeting said the rest.
"What nonsense it is," Natasha suddenly exclaimed, "about
honeymoons, and that the greatest happiness is at first! On the
contrary, now is the best of all. If only you did not go away! Do
you remember how we quarreled? And it was always my fault. Always
mine. And what we quarreled about--I dont even remember!"
"Always about the same thing," said Pierre with a smile. "Jealo..."
"Dont say it! I cant bear it!" Natasha cried, and her eyes
glittered coldly and vindictively. "Did you see her?" she added, after
"No, and if I had I shouldnt have recognized her."
They were silent for a while.
"Oh, do you know? While you were talking in the study I was looking at
you," Natasha began, evidently anxious to disperse the cloud that had
come over them. "You are as like him as two peas--like the boy." (She
meant her little son.) "Oh, its time to go to him.... The milks
come.... But Im sorry to leave you."
They were silent for a few seconds. Then suddenly turning to one
another at the same time they both began to speak. Pierre began with
self-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Natasha with a quiet, happy smile.
Having interrupted one another they both stopped to let the other
"No. What did you say? Go on, go on."
"No, you go on, I was talking nonsense," said Natasha.
Pierre finished what he had begun. It was the sequel to his
complacent reflections on his success in Petersburg. At that moment it
seemed to him that he was chosen to give a new direction to the
whole of Russian society and to the whole world.
"I only wished to say that ideas that have great results are
always simple ones. My whole idea is that if vicious people are united
and constitute a power, then honest folk must do the same. Now
thats simple enough."
"And what were you going to say?"
"I? Only nonsense."
"But all the same?"
"Oh nothing, only a trifle," said Natasha, smilingly still more
brightly. "I only wanted to tell you about Petya: today nurse was
coming to take him from me, and he laughed, shut his eyes, and clung
to me. Im sure he thought he was hiding. Awfully sweet! There, now
hes crying. Well, good-by!" and she left the room.
Meanwhile downstairs in young Nicholas Bolkonskis bedroom a
little lamp was burning as usual. (The boy was afraid of the dark
and they could not cure him of it.) Dessalles slept propped up on four
pillows and his Roman nose emitted sounds of rhythmic snoring.
Little Nicholas, who had just waked up in a cold perspiration, sat
up in bed and gazed before him with wide-open eyes. He had awaked from
a terrible dream. He had dreamed that he and Uncle Pierre, wearing
helmets such as were depicted in his Plutarch, were leading a huge
army. The army was made up of white slanting lines that filled the air
like the cobwebs that float about in autumn and which Dessalles called
les fils de la Vierge. In front was Glory, which was similar to
those threads but rather thicker. He and Pierre were borne along
lightly and joyously, nearer and nearer to their goal. Suddenly the
threads that moved them began to slacken and become entangled and it
grew difficult to move. And Uncle Nicholas stood before them in a
stern and threatening attitude.
"Have you done this?" he said, pointing to some broken sealing wax and
pens. "I loved you, but I have orders from Arakcheev and will kill the
first of you who moves forward." Little Nicholas turned to look at
Pierre but Pierre was no longer there. In his place was his
father--Prince Andrew--and his father had neither shape nor form, but
he existed, and
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