Pierre glanced absently at Natásha and was about to say something, but the countess interrupted him.

“You were at the battle, we heard.”

“Yes, I was,” Pierre answered. “There will be another battle tomorrow⁠ ⁠…” he began, but Natásha interrupted him.

“But what is the matter with you, Count? You are not like yourself.⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh, don’t ask me, don’t ask me! I don’t know myself. Tomorrow⁠ ⁠… But no! Goodbye, goodbye!” he muttered. “It’s an awful time!” and dropping behind the carriage he stepped onto the pavement.

Natásha continued to lean out of the window for a long time, beaming at him with her kindly, slightly quizzical, happy smile.

For the last two days, ever since leaving home, Pierre had been living in the empty house of his deceased benefactor, Osip Bazdéev. This is how it happened.