wrong he had done Sónya, felt herself to blame toward her, and imagined that her wealth had influenced Nikoláy’s choice. She could not find fault with Sónya in any way and tried to be fond of her, but often felt ill-will toward her which she could not overcome.
Once she had a talk with her friend Natásha about Sónya and about her own injustice toward her.
“You know,” said Natásha, “you have read the Gospels a great deal—there is a passage in them that just fits Sónya.”
“What?” asked Countess Márya, surprised.
“ ‘To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken away.’ You remember? She is one that hath not; why, I don’t know. Perhaps she lacks egotism, I don’t know, but from her is taken away, and everything has been taken away. Sometimes I am dreadfully sorry for her. Formerly I very much wanted Nicolas to marry her, but I always had a sort of presentiment that it would not come off. She is a sterile flower , you know—like some strawberry blossoms. Sometimes I am sorry for her, and sometimes I think she doesn’t feel it as you or I would.”
Though Countess Márya told Natásha that those words in the Gospel must be understood differently, yet looking at Sónya she agreed with Natásha’s explanation. It really seemed that Sónya did not feel her position trying, and had grown quite reconciled to her lot as a sterile flower . She seemed to be fond not so much of individuals as of the family as a whole. Like a cat, she had attached herself not to the people but to the home. She waited on the old countess, petted and spoiled the children,