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"
No
,
I
do
n't
believe
we
ever
were
in
animals
,
"
said
Natásha
,
still
in
a
whisper
though
the
music
had
ceased
.
"
But
I
am
certain
that
we
were
angels
somewhere
there
,
and
have
been
here
,
and
that
is
why
we
remember
...
"
"
May
I
join
you
?
"
said
Dimmler
who
had
come
up
quietly
,
and
he
sat
down
by
them
.
"
If
we
have
been
angels
,
why
have
we
fallen
lower
?
"
said
Nicholas
.
"
No
,
that
ca
n't
be
!
"
"
Not
lower
,
who
said
we
were
lower
?
...
How
do
I
know
what
I
was
before
?
"
Natásha
rejoined
with
conviction
.
"
The
soul
is
immortal
--
well
then
,
if
I
shall
always
live
I
must
have
lived
before
,
lived
for
a
whole
eternity
.
"
"
Yes
,
but
it
is
hard
for
us
to
imagine
eternity
,
"
remarked
Dimmler
,
who
had
joined
the
young
folk
with
a
mildly
condescending
smile
but
now
spoke
as
quietly
and
seriously
as
they
.
"
Why
is
it
hard
to
imagine
eternity
?
"
said
Natásha
.
"
It
is
now
today
,
and
it
will
be
tomorrow
,
and
always
;
and
there
was
yesterday
,
and
the
day
before
...
"
"
Natásha
!
Now
it
's
your
turn
.
Sing
me
something
,
"
they
heard
the
countess
say
.
"
Why
are
you
sitting
there
like
conspirators
?
"
"
Mamma
,
I
do
n't
at
all
want
to
,
"
replied
Natásha
,
but
all
the
same
she
rose
.
None
of
them
,
not
even
the
middle-aged
Dimmler
,
wanted
to
break
off
their
conversation
and
quit
that
corner
in
the
sitting
room
,
but
Natásha
got
up
and
Nicholas
sat
down
at
the
clavichord
.
Standing
as
usual
in
the
middle
of
the
hall
and
choosing
the
place
where
the
resonance
was
best
,
Natásha
began
to
sing
her
mother
's
favorite
song
.
She
had
said
she
did
not
want
to
sing
,
but
it
was
long
since
she
had
sung
,
and
long
before
she
again
sang
,
as
she
did
that
evening
.
The
count
,
from
his
study
where
he
was
talking
to
Mítenka
,
heard
her
and
,
like
a
schoolboy
in
a
hurry
to
run
out
to
play
,
blundered
in
his
talk
while
giving
orders
to
the
steward
,
and
at
last
stopped
,
while
Mítenka
stood
in
front
of
him
also
listening
and
smiling
.
Nicholas
did
not
take
his
eyes
off
his
sister
and
drew
breath
in
time
with
her
.
Sónya
,
as
she
listened
,
thought
of
the
immense
difference
there
was
between
herself
and
her
friend
,
and
how
impossible
it
was
for
her
to
be
anything
like
as
bewitching
as
her
cousin
.
The
old
countess
sat
with
a
blissful
yet
sad
smile
and
with
tears
in
her
eyes
,
occasionally
shaking
her
head
.
She
thought
of
Natásha
and
of
her
own
youth
,
and
of
how
there
was
something
unnatural
and
dreadful
in
this
impending
marriage
of
Natásha
and
Prince
Andrew
.
