“Yes, yes, and so⁠ ⁠… ?” Pierre kept saying as he leaned toward her with his whole body and eagerly listened to her story. “Yes, yes⁠ ⁠… so he grew tranquil and softened? With all his soul he had always sought one thing⁠—to be perfectly good⁠—so he could not be afraid of death. The faults he had⁠—if he had any⁠—were not of his making. So he did soften?⁠ ⁠… What a happy thing that he saw you again,” he added, suddenly turning to Natásha and looking at her with eyes full of tears.

Natásha’s face twitched. She frowned and lowered her eyes for a moment. She hesitated for an instant whether to speak or not.

“Yes, that was happiness,” she then said in her quiet voice with its deep chest notes. “For me it certainly was happiness.” She paused. “And he⁠ ⁠… he⁠ ⁠… he said he was wishing for it at the very moment I entered the room.⁠ ⁠…”

Natásha’s voice broke. She blushed, pressed her clasped hands on her knees, and then controlling herself with an evident effort lifted her head and began to speak rapidly.