the earth.
“Yes, yes! I love him!” thought Natásha, reading the letter for the twentieth time and finding some peculiarly deep meaning in each word of it.
That evening Márya Dmítrievna was going to the Akhárovs’ and proposed to take the girls with her. Natásha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
XV
On returning late in the evening Sónya went to Natásha’s room, and to her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa.
Open on the table, beside her lay Anatole’s letter. Sónya picked it up and read it.
As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natásha, trying to find in her face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not find it. Her face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutching her breast to keep herself from choking, Sónya, pale and trembling with fear