“No, why be sorry? Being here, you had to pay your respects. But if he won’t⁠—that’s his affair,” said Márya Dmítrievna, looking for something in her reticule. “Besides, the trousseau is ready, so there is nothing to wait for; and what is not ready I’ll send after you. Though I don’t like letting you go, it is the best way. So go, with God’s blessing!”

Having found what she was looking for in the reticule she handed it to Natásha. It was a letter from Princess Márya.

“She has written to you. How she torments herself, poor thing! She’s afraid you might think that she does not like you.”

“But she doesn’t like me,” said Natásha.

“Don’t talk nonsense!” cried Márya Dmítrievna.