abandoned himself entirely to his laughter, and after such a laugh she always felt nearer to him. Natásha would have been completely happy if the thought of the separation awaiting her and drawing near had not terrified her, just as the mere thought of it made him turn pale and cold.
On the eve of his departure from Petersburg Prince Andréy brought with him Pierre, who had not been to the Rostóvs’ once since the ball. Pierre seemed disconcerted and embarrassed. He was talking to the countess, and Natásha sat down beside a little chess table with Sónya, thereby inviting Prince Andréy to come too. He did so.
“You have known Bezúkhov a long time?” he asked. “Do you like him?”
“Yes, he’s a dear, but very absurd.”
And as usual when speaking of Pierre, she began to tell anecdotes of his absentmindedness, some of which had even been invented about him.
“Do you know I have entrusted him with our secret? I have known him from childhood. He has a heart of gold. I beg you, Natáli,” Prince Andréy said with sudden seriousness—“I am going away and heaven knows what may happen. You may