Natásha. The same thought was meanwhile tormenting Princess Márya. She knew what she ought to have said to Natásha, but she had been unable to say it because Mademoiselle Bourienne was in the way, and because, without knowing why, she felt it very difficult to speak of the marriage. When the count was already leaving the room, Princess Márya went up hurriedly to Natásha, took her by the hand, and said with a deep sigh:
“Wait, I must …”
Natásha glanced at her ironically without knowing why.
“Dear Natáli,” said Princess Márya, “I want you to know that I am glad my brother has found happiness. …”
She paused, feeling that she was not telling the truth. Natásha noticed this and guessed its reason.
“I think, Princess, it is not convenient to speak of that now,” she said with external dignity and coldness, though she felt the tears choking her.
“What have I said and what have I done?” thought she, as soon as she was out of the room.
They waited a long time for Natásha to come to dinner that day. She sat in her room crying like a child, blowing her nose and sobbing. Sónya stood beside her, kissing her hair.
“Natásha, what is it about?” she asked. “What do they matter to you? It will all pass, Natásha.”
“But if you only knew how offensive it was … as if I …”
“Don’t talk about it, Natásha. It wasn’t your fault so why should you mind? Kiss me,” said Sónya.