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"
And
what
were
you
going
to
say
?
"
"
I
?
Only
nonsense
.
"
"
But
all
the
same
?
"
"
Oh
nothing
,
only
a
trifle
,
"
said
Natásha
,
smiling
still
more
brightly
.
"
I
only
wanted
to
tell
you
about
Pétya
:
today
nurse
was
coming
to
take
him
from
me
,
and
he
laughed
,
shut
his
eyes
,
and
clung
to
me
.
I
'm
sure
he
thought
he
was
hiding
.
Awfully
sweet
!
There
,
now
he
's
crying
.
Well
,
good-by
!
"
and
she
left
the
room
.
Meanwhile
downstairs
in
young
Nicholas
Bolkónski
's
bedroom
a
little
lamp
was
burning
as
usual
.
(
The
boy
was
afraid
of
the
dark
and
they
could
not
cure
him
of
it
.
)
Dessalles
slept
propped
up
on
four
pillows
and
his
Roman
nose
emitted
sounds
of
rhythmic
snoring
.
Little
Nicholas
,
who
had
just
waked
up
in
a
cold
perspiration
,
sat
up
in
bed
and
gazed
before
him
with
wide-open
eyes
.
He
had
awaked
from
a
terrible
dream
.
He
had
dreamed
that
he
and
Uncle
Pierre
,
wearing
helmets
such
as
were
depicted
in
his
Plutarch
,
were
leading
a
huge
army
.
The
army
was
made
up
of
white
slanting
lines
that
filled
the
air
like
the
cobwebs
that
float
about
in
autumn
and
which
Dessalles
called
les
fils
de
la
Vièrge
.
In
front
was
Glory
,
which
was
similar
to
those
threads
but
rather
thicker
.
He
and
Pierre
were
borne
along
lightly
and
joyously
,
nearer
and
nearer
to
their
goal
.
Suddenly
the
threads
that
moved
them
began
to
slacken
and
become
entangled
and
it
grew
difficult
to
move
.
And
Uncle
Nicholas
stood
before
them
in
a
stern
and
threatening
attitude
.
"
Have
you
done
this
?
"
he
said
,
pointing
to
some
broken
sealing
wax
and
pens
.
"
I
loved
you
,
but
I
have
orders
from
Arakchéev
and
will
kill
the
first
of
you
who
moves
forward
"
Little
Nicholas
turned
to
look
at
Pierre
but
Pierre
was
no
longer
there
.
In
his
place
was
his
father
--
Prince
Andrew
--
and
his
father
had
neither
shape
nor
form
,
but
he
existed
,
and
when
little
Nicholas
perceived
him
he
grew
faint
with
love
:
he
felt
himself
powerless
,
limp
,
and
formless
.
His
father
caressed
and
pitied
him
.
But
Uncle
Nicholas
came
nearer
and
nearer
to
them
.
Terror
seized
young
Nicholas
and
he
awoke
.
"
My
father
!
"
he
thought
.
(
Though
there
were
two
good
portraits
of
Prince
Andrew
in
the
house
,
Nicholas
never
imagined
him
in
human
form
.
)
"
My
father
has
been
with
me
and
caressed
me
.
He
approved
of
me
and
of
Uncle
Pierre
.
Whatever
he
may
tell
me
,
I
will
do
it
.
Mucius
Scaevola
burned
his
hand
.
Why
should
not
the
same
sort
of
thing
happen
to
me
?
I
know
they
want
me
to
learn
.
And
I
will
learn
.
But
someday
I
shall
have
finished
learning
,
and
then
I
will
do
something
.
I
only
pray
God
that
something
may
happen
to
me
such
as
happened
to
Plutarch
's
men
,
and
I
will
act
as
they
did
.
I
will
do
better
.
Everyone
shall
know
me
,
love
me
,
and
be
delighted
with
me
!
"
And
suddenly
his
bosom
heaved
with
sobs
and
he
began
to
cry
.
"
Are
you
ill
?
"
he
heard
Dessalles
'
voice
asking
.
