Natásha listened with concentrated attention, trying but failing to take in the meaning of his words.
“Hard as this year which delays my happiness will be,” continued Prince Andréy, “it will give you time to be sure of yourself. I ask you to make me happy in a year, but you are free: our engagement shall remain a secret, and should you find that you do not love me, or should you come to love …” said Prince Andréy with an unnatural smile.
“Why do you say that?” Natásha interrupted him. “You know that from the very day you first came to Otrádnoe I have loved you,” she cried, quite convinced that she spoke the truth.
“In a year you will learn to know yourself. …”
“A whole year!” Natásha repeated suddenly, only now realizing that the marriage was to be postponed for a year. “But why a year? Why a year? …”
Prince Andréy began to explain to her the reasons for this delay. Natásha did not hear him.
“And can’t it be helped?” she asked. Prince Andréy did not reply, but his face expressed the impossibility of altering that decision.
“It’s awful! Oh, it’s awful! awful!” Natásha suddenly cried, and again burst into sobs. “I shall die, waiting a year: it’s impossible, it’s awful!” She looked into her lover’s face and saw in it a look of commiseration and perplexity.
“No, no! I’ll do anything!” she said, suddenly checking her tears. “I am so happy.”
The father and mother came into the room and gave the betrothed couple their blessing.