On reaching the vestibule Natásha saw a tall figure in a fur coat unwinding his scarf. “It’s he! It’s really he! He has come!” she said to herself, and rushing at him embraced him, pressed his head to her breast, and then pushed him back and gazed at his ruddy, happy face, covered with hoarfrost. “Yes, it is he, happy and contented.⁠ ⁠…”

Then all at once she remembered the tortures of suspense she had experienced for the last fortnight, and the joy that had lit up her face vanished; she frowned and overwhelmed Pierre with a torrent of reproaches and angry words.

“Yes, it’s all very well for you. You are pleased, you’ve had a good time.⁠ ⁠… But what about me? You might at least have shown consideration for the children. I am nursing and my milk was spoiled.⁠ ⁠… Pétya was at death’s door. But you were enjoying yourself. Yes, enjoying⁠ ⁠…”