With Sónya’s help and the maid’s, Natásha got the glass she held into the right position opposite the other; her face assumed a serious expression and she sat silent. She sat a long time looking at the receding line of candles reflected in the glasses and expecting (from tales she had heard) to see a coffin, or him , Prince Andréy, in that last dim, indistinctly outlined square. But ready as she was to take the smallest speck for the image of a man or of a coffin, she saw nothing. She began blinking rapidly and moved away from the looking glasses.

“Why is it others see things and I don’t?” she said. “You sit down now, Sónya. You absolutely must, tonight! Do it for me.⁠ ⁠… Today I feel so frightened!”

Sónya sat down before the glasses, got the right position, and began looking.

“Now, Sófya Alexándrovna is sure to see something,” whispered Dunyásha; “while you do nothing but laugh.”

Sónya heard this and Natásha’s whisper: