“Nikólenka is going away in a week’s time, his … papers … have come … he told me himself … but still I should not cry,” and she showed a paper she held in her hand—with the verses Nikoláy had written, “still, I should not cry, but you can’t … no one can understand … what a soul he has!”
And she began to cry again because he had such a noble soul.
“It’s all very well for you … I am not envious … I love you and Borís also,” she went on, gaining a little strength; “he is nice … there are no difficulties in your way. … But Nikoláy is my cousin … one would have to … the Metropolitan himself … and even then it can’t be done. And besides, if she tells Mamma” (Sónya looked upon the countess as her mother and called her so) “that I am spoiling Nikoláy’s career and am heartless and ungrateful, while truly … God is my witness,” and she made the sign of the cross, “I love her so much, and all of you, only Véra … And what for? What have I done to her? I am so grateful to you that I would willingly sacrifice everything, only I have nothing. …”
Sónya could not continue, and again hid her face in her hands and in the feather bed. Natásha began consoling her, but her face showed that she understood all the gravity of her friend’s trouble.
“Sónya,” she suddenly exclaimed, as if she had guessed the true reason of her friend’s sorrow, “I’m sure Véra has said something to you since dinner? Hasn’t she?”
“Yes, these verses Nikoláy wrote himself and I copied some others, and she found them on my table and said she’d show them to Mamma, and that I was ungrateful, and that Mamma would never allow him to marry me, but that he’ll marry Julie. You see how he’s been with her all day … Natásha, what have I done to deserve it? …”