own heart, sinking with alarm and terror and overflowing with love.
She opened the door and stepped across the threshold and onto the cold, damp earthen floor of the passage.
The cold she felt refreshed her. With her bare feet she touched a sleeping man, stepped over him, and opened the door into the part of the hut where Prince Andréy lay.
It was dark in there. In the farthest corner, on a bench beside a bed on which something was lying, stood a tallow candle with a long, thick, and smoldering wick.
From the moment she had been told that morning of Prince Andréy’s wound and his presence there, Natásha had resolved to see him. She did not know why she had to, she knew the meeting would be painful, but felt the more convinced that it was necessary.
All day she had