all expect to see her there, but he had failed to recognize her because the change in her since he last saw her was immense. She had grown thin and pale, but that was not what made her unrecognizable; she was unrecognizable at the moment he entered because on that face whose eyes had always shone with a suppressed smile of the joy of life, now when he first entered and glanced at her there was not the least shadow of a smile: only her eyes were kindly attentive and sadly interrogative.
Pierre’s confusion was not reflected by any confusion on Natásha’s part, but only by the pleasure that just perceptibly lit up her whole face.
XVI
“She has come to stay with me,” said Princess Márya. “The count and countess will be here in a few days. The countess is in a dreadful state; but it was necessary for Natásha herself to see a doctor. They insisted on her coming with me.”
“Yes, is there a family free from sorrow now?” said Pierre, addressing Natásha. “You know it happened the very day we were rescued. I saw him. What a delightful boy he was!”
Natásha looked at him, and by way of answer to his words her eyes widened and lit up.
“What can one say or think of as a consolation?” said Pierre. “Nothing! Why had such a splendid boy, so full of life, to die?”
“Yes, in these days it would be hard to live without faith …” remarked Princess Márya.
“Yes, yes, that is really true,” Pierre hastily interrupted her.
“Why is it true?” Natásha asked, looking attentively into Pierre’s eyes.
“How can you ask why?” said Princess Márya. “The thought alone