Bab Bab 163 · 第163章

Márya Dmítrievna, having found Sónya weeping in the corridor, made her

confess everything, and intercepting the note to Natásha she read it and

went into Natásha’s room with it in her hand.

“You shameless good-for-nothing!” said she. “I won’t hear a word.”

Pushing back Natásha who looked at her with astonished but tearless

eyes, she locked her in; and having given orders to the yard porter to

admit the persons who would be coming that evening, but not to let them

out again, and having told the footman to bring them up to her, she

seated herself in the drawing room to await the abductors.

When Gabriel came to inform her that the men who had come had run

away again, she rose frowning, and clasping her hands behind her paced

through the rooms a long time considering what she should do. Toward

midnight she went to Natásha’s room fingering the key in her pocket.

Sónya was sitting sobbing in the corridor. “Márya Dmítrievna, for God’s

sake let me in to her!” she pleaded, but Márya Dmítrievna unlocked

the door and went in without giving her an answer.... “Disgusting,

abominable... In my house... horrid girl, hussy! I’m only sorry for her

father!” thought she, trying to restrain her wrath. “Hard as it may

be, I’ll tell them all to hold their tongues and will hide it from the

count.” She entered the room with resolute steps. Natásha lying on the

sofa, her head hidden in her hands, and she did not stir. She was in

just the same position in which Márya Dmítrievna had left her.

“A nice girl! Very nice!” said Márya Dmítrievna. “Arranging meetings

with lovers in my house! It’s no use pretending: you listen when I speak

to you!” And Márya Dmítrievna touched her arm. “Listen when I speak!

You’ve disgraced yourself like the lowest of hussies. I’d treat you

differently, but I’m sorry for your father, so I will conceal it.”

Natásha did not change her position, but her whole body heaved with

noiseless, convulsive sobs which choked her. Márya Dmítrievna glanced

round at Sónya and seated herself on the sofa beside Natásha.

“It’s lucky for him that he escaped me; but I’ll find him!” she said in

her rough voice. “Do you hear what I am saying or not?” she added.

She put her large hand under Natásha’s face and turned it toward her.

Both Márya Dmítrievna and Sónya were amazed when they saw how Natásha

looked. Her eyes were dry and glistening, her lips compressed, her

cheeks sunken.

“Let me be!... What is it to me?... I shall die!” she muttered,

wrenching herself from Márya Dmítrievna’s hands with a vicious effort

and sinking down again into her former position.

“Natalie!” said Márya Dmítrievna. “I wish for your good. Lie still,

stay like that then, I won’t touch you. But listen. I won’t tell you how

guilty you are. You know that yourself. But when your father comes back

tomorrow what am I to tell him? Eh?”

Again Natásha’s body shook with sobs.

“Suppose he finds out, and your brother, and your betrothed?”

“I have no betrothed: I have refused him!” cried Natásha.

“That’s all the same,” continued Márya Dmítrievna. “If they hear of

this, will they let it pass? He, your father, I know him... if he

challenges him to a duel will that be all right? Eh?”

“Oh, let me be! Why have you interfered at all? Why? Why? Who asked

you to?” shouted Natásha, raising herself on the sofa and looking

malignantly at Márya Dmítrievna.

“But what did you want?” cried Márya Dmítrievna, growing angry again.

“Were you kept under lock and key? Who hindered his coming to the house?

Why carry you off as if you were some gypsy singing girl?... Well, if he

had carried you off... do you think they wouldn’t have found him?

Your father, or brother, or your betrothed? And he’s a scoundrel, a

wretch—that’s a fact!”

“He is better than any of you!” exclaimed Natásha getting up. “If you

hadn’t interfered... Oh, my God! What is it all? What is it? Sónya,

why?... Go away!”

And she burst into sobs with the despairing vehemence with which people

bewail disasters they feel they have themselves occasioned. Márya

Dmítrievna was to speak again but Natásha cried out:

“Go away! Go away! You all hate and despise me!” and she threw herself

back on the sofa.

Márya Dmítrievna went on admonishing her for some time, enjoining on her

that it must all be kept from her father and assuring her that nobody

would know anything about it if only Natásha herself would undertake

to forget it all and not let anyone see that something had happened.

Natásha did not reply, nor did she sob any longer, but she grew cold

and had a shivering fit. Márya Dmítrievna put a pillow under her head,

covered her with two quilts, and herself brought her some lime-flower

water, but Natásha did not respond to her.

“Well, let her sleep,” said Márya Dmítrievna as she went out of the room

supposing Natásha to be asleep.

But Natásha was not asleep; with pale face and fixed wide-open eyes she

looked straight before her. All that night she did not sleep or weep and

did not speak to Sónya who got up and went to her several times.

Next day Count Rostóv returned from his estate near Moscow in time for

lunch as he had promised. He was in very good spirits; the affair with

the purchaser was going on satisfactorily, and there was nothing to keep

him any longer in Moscow, away from the countess whom he missed. Márya

Dmítrievna met him and told him that Natásha had been very unwell the

day before and that they had sent for the doctor, but that she was

better now. Natásha had not left her room that morning. With compressed

and parched lips and dry fixed eyes, she sat at the window, uneasily

watching the people who drove past and hurriedly glancing round at

anyone who entered the room. She was evidently expecting news of him and

that he would come or would write to her.

When the count came to see her she turned anxiously round at the sound

of a man’s footstep, and then her face resumed its cold and malevolent

expression. She did not even get up to greet him. “What is the matter

with you, my angel? Are you ill?” asked the count.

After a moment’s silence Natásha answered: “Yes, ill.”

In reply to the count’s anxious inquiries as to why she was so dejected

and whether anything had happened to her betrothed, she assured him

that nothing had happened and asked him not to worry. Márya Dmítrievna

confirmed Natásha’s assurances that nothing had happened. From

the pretense of illness, from his daughter’s distress, and by the

embarrassed faces of Sónya and Márya Dmítrievna, the count saw clearly

that something had gone wrong during his absence, but it was so terrible

for him to think that anything disgraceful had happened to his beloved

daughter, and he so prized his own cheerful tranquillity, that he

avoided inquiries and tried to assure himself that nothing particularly

had happened; and he was only dissatisfied that her indisposition

delayed their return to the country.