passionate love letter which Dólokhov had composed for Anatole, and as she read it she found in it an echo of all that she herself imagined she was feeling.
“Since yesterday evening my fate has been sealed; to be loved by you or to die. There is no other way for me,” the letter began. Then he went on to say that he knew her parents would not give her to him—for this there were secret reasons he could reveal only to her—but that if she loved him she need only say the word yes, and no human power could hinder their bliss. Love would conquer all. He would steal her away and carry her off to the ends of the earth.
“Yes, yes! I love him!” thought Natásha, reading the letter for the twentieth time and finding some peculiarly deep meaning in each word of it.
That evening Márya Dmítrievna was going to the Akhárovs' and proposed to take the girls with her. Natásha, pleading a headache, remained at home.
CHAPTER XV
On returning late in the evening Sónya went to Natásha's room, and to her surprise found her still dressed and asleep on the sofa. Open on the table beside her lay Anatole's letter. Sónya picked it up and read it.
As she read she glanced at the sleeping Natásha, trying to find in her face an explanation of what she was reading, but did not find it. Her face was calm, gentle, and happy. Clutching her breast to keep herself from choking, Sónya, pale and trembling with fear and agitation, sat down in an armchair and burst into tears.
“How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so far? Can she have left off loving Prince Andrew? And how could she let Kurágin go to such lengths? He is a deceiver and a villain, that's plain! What will Nicholas, dear noble Nicholas, do when he hears of it? So this is the meaning of her excited, resolute, unnatural look the day before yesterday, yesterday, and today,” thought Sónya. “But it can't be that she loves him! She probably opened the letter without knowing who it was from. Probably she is offended by it. She could not do such a thing!”
Sónya wiped away her tears and went up to Natásha, again scanning her face.
“Natásha!” she said, just audibly.
Natásha awoke and saw Sónya.
“Ah, you're back?”
And with the decision and tenderness that often come at the moment of awakening, she embraced her friend, but noticing Sónya's look of embarrassment, her own face expressed confusion and suspicion.
“Sónya, you've read that letter?” she demanded.
“Yes,” answered Sónya softly.
Natásha smiled rapturously.
“No, Sónya, I can't any longer!” she said. “I can't hide it from you any longer. You know, we love one another! Sónya, darling, he writes. . . Sónya. . .”
Sónya stared open-eyed at Natásha, unable to believe her ears.
“And Bolkónski?” she asked.
“Ah, Sónya, if you only knew how happy I am!” cried Natásha. “You don't know what love is. . .”
“But, Natásha, can that be all over?”
Natásha looked at Sónya with wide-open eyes as if she could not grasp the question.
“Well, then, are you refusing Prince Andrew?” said Sónya.
“Oh, you don't understand anything! Don't talk nonsense, just listen!” said Natásha, with momentary vexation.
“But I can't believe it,” insisted Sónya. “I don't understand. How is it you have loved a man for a whole year and suddenly. . . Why, you have only seen him three times! Natásha, I don't believe you, you're joking! In three days to forget everything and so. . .”
“Three days?” said Natásha. “It seems to me I've loved him a hundred years. It seems to me that I have never loved anyone before. You can't understand it.. . . Sónya, wait a bit, sit here,” and Natásha embraced and kissed her.
“I had heard that it happens like this, and you must have heard it too, but it's only now that I feel such love. It's not the same as before. As soon as I saw him I felt he was my master and I his slave, and that I could not help loving him. Yes, his slave! Whatever he orders I shall do. You don't understand that. What can I do? What can I do, Sónya?” cried Natásha with a happy yet frightened expression.
“But think what you are doing,” cried Sónya. “I can't leave it like this. This secret correspondence. . . How could you let him go so far?” she went on, with a horror and disgust she could hardly conceal.
“I told you that I have no will,” Natásha replied. “Why can't you understand? I love him!”
“Then I won't let it come to that. . . I shall tell!” cried Sónya, bursting into tears.
