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- Стр. 1139/1273
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Natásha
remained
alone
and
,
from
the
time
Princess
Mary
began
making
preparations
for
departure
,
held
aloof
from
her
too
.
Princess
Mary
asked
the
countess
to
let
Natásha
go
with
her
to
Moscow
,
and
both
parents
gladly
accepted
this
offer
,
for
they
saw
their
daughter
losing
strength
every
day
and
thought
that
a
change
of
scene
and
the
advice
of
Moscow
doctors
would
be
good
for
her
.
"
I
am
not
going
anywhere
,
"
Natásha
replied
when
this
was
proposed
to
her
.
"
Do
please
just
leave
me
alone
!
"
And
she
ran
out
of
the
room
,
with
difficulty
refraining
from
tears
of
vexation
and
irritation
rather
than
of
sorrow
.
After
she
felt
herself
deserted
by
Princes
Mary
and
alone
in
her
grief
,
Natásha
spent
most
of
the
time
in
her
room
by
herself
,
sitting
huddled
up
feet
and
all
in
the
corner
of
the
sofa
,
tearing
and
twisting
something
with
her
slender
nervous
fingers
and
gazing
intently
and
fixedly
at
whatever
her
eyes
chanced
to
fall
on
.
This
solitude
exhausted
and
tormented
her
but
she
was
in
absolute
need
of
it
.
As
soon
as
anyone
entered
she
got
up
quickly
,
changed
her
position
and
expression
,
and
picked
up
a
book
or
some
sewing
,
evidently
waiting
impatiently
for
the
intruder
to
go
.
She
felt
all
the
time
as
if
she
might
at
any
moment
penetrate
that
on
which
--
with
a
terrible
questioning
too
great
for
her
strength
--
her
spiritual
gaze
was
fixed
.
One
day
toward
the
end
of
December
Natásha
,
pale
and
thin
,
dressed
in
a
black
woolen
gown
,
her
plaited
hair
negligently
twisted
into
a
knot
,
was
crouched
feet
and
all
in
the
corner
of
her
sofa
,
nervously
crumpling
and
smoothing
out
the
end
of
her
sash
while
she
looked
at
a
corner
of
the
door
.
She
was
gazing
in
the
direction
in
which
he
had
gone
--
to
the
other
side
of
life
.
And
that
other
side
of
life
,
of
which
she
had
never
before
thought
and
which
had
formerly
seemed
to
her
so
far
away
and
improbable
,
was
now
nearer
and
more
akin
and
more
comprehensible
than
this
side
of
life
,
where
everything
was
either
emptiness
and
desolation
or
suffering
and
indignity
.
She
was
gazing
where
she
knew
him
to
be
;
but
she
could
not
imagine
him
otherwise
than
as
he
had
been
here
.
She
now
saw
him
again
as
he
had
been
at
Mytíshchi
,
at
Tróitsa
,
and
at
Yaroslávl
.
She
saw
his
face
,
heard
his
voice
,
repeated
his
words
and
her
own
,
and
sometimes
devised
other
words
they
might
have
spoken
.
There
he
is
lying
back
in
an
armchair
in
his
velvet
cloak
,
leaning
his
head
on
his
thin
pale
hand
.
His
chest
is
dreadfully
hollow
and
his
shoulders
raised
.
His
lips
are
firmly
closed
,
his
eyes
glitter
,
and
a
wrinkle
comes
and
goes
on
his
pale
forehead
.
One
of
his
legs
twitches
just
perceptibly
,
but
rapidly
.
Natásha
knows
that
he
is
struggling
with
terrible
pain
.
"
What
is
that
pain
like
?
Why
does
he
have
that
pain
?
What
does
he
feel
?
How
does
it
hurt
him
?
"
thought
Natásha
.
He
noticed
her
watching
him
,
raised
his
eyes
,
and
began
to
speak
seriously
:
