“Because I know it will end in nothing. …”
“How can you know? No, Mamma, don’t speak to him! What nonsense!” said Natásha in the tone of one being deprived of her property. “Well, I won’t marry, but let him come if he enjoys it and I enjoy it.” Natásha smiled and looked at her mother. “Not to marry, but just so,” she added.
“How so , my pet?”
“Just so . There’s no need for me to marry him. But … just so .”
“Just so, just so,” repeated the countess, and shaking all over, she went off into a good humored, unexpected, elderly laugh.
“Don’t laugh, stop!” cried Natásha. “You’re shaking the whole bed! You’re awfully like me, just such another giggler. … Wait …” and she seized the countess’ hands and kissed a knuckle of the little finger, saying, “June,” and continued, kissing, “July, August,” on the other hand. “But, Mamma, is he very much in love? What do you think? Was anybody ever so much in love with you? And he’s very nice, very, very nice. Only not quite my taste—he is so narrow, like the dining-room clock. … Don’t you understand? Narrow, you know—gray, light gray …”
“What rubbish you’re talking!” said the countess.
Natásha continued: “Don’t you really understand? Nikólenka would understand. … Bezúkhov, now, is blue, dark-blue and red, and he is square.”
“You flirt with him too,” said the countess, laughing.
“No, he is a Freemason, I have found out. He is fine, dark-blue and red. … How can I explain it to you?”