“Is it possible that I⁠—the ‘chit of a girl,’ as everybody called me,” thought Natásha⁠—“is it possible that I am now to be the wife and the equal of this strange, dear, clever man whom even my father looks up to? Can it be true? Can it be true that there can be no more playing with life, that now I am grown up, that on me now lies a responsibility for my every word and deed? Yes, but what did he ask me?”

“No,” she replied, but she had not understood his question.

“Forgive me!” he said. “But you are so young, and I have already been through so much in life. I am afraid for you, you do not yet know yourself.”

Natásha listened with concentrated attention, trying but failing to take in the meaning of his words.