Chapter 8

           

           ThateveningtheRostóvswenttotheOpera,forwhichMáryaDmítrievnahadtakenabox.

           Natáshadidnotwanttogo,butcouldnotrefuseMáryaDmítrievna’skindofferwhichwasintendedexpresslyforher.Whenshecamereadydressedintotheballroomtoawaitherfather,andlookinginthelargemirrortheresawthatshewaspretty,verypretty,shefeltevenmoresad,butitwasasweet,tendersadness.

           “OGod,ifhewereherenowIwouldnotbehaveasIdidthen,butdifferently.Iwouldnotbesillyandafraidofthings,Iwouldsimplyembracehim,clingtohim,andmakehimlookatmewiththosesearchinginquiringeyeswithwhichhehassooftenlookedatme,andthenIwouldmakehimlaughasheusedtolaugh.Andhiseyes—howIseethoseeyes!”thoughtNatásha.“Andwhatdohisfatherandsistermattertome?Ilovehimalone,him,him,withthatfaceandthoseeyes,withhissmile,manlyandyetchildlike....No,Ihadbetternotthinkofhim;notthinkofhimbutforgethim,quiteforgethimforthepresent.Ican’tbearthiswaitingandIshallcryinaminute!”andsheturnedawayfromtheglass,makinganeffortnottocry.“AndhowcanSónyaloveNicholassocalmlyandquietlyandwaitsolongandsopatiently?”thoughtshe,lookingatSónya,whoalsocameinquiteready,withafaninherhand.“No,she’saltogetherdifferent.Ican’t!”

           Natáshaatthatmomentfeltsosoftenedandtenderthatitwasnotenoughforhertoloveandknowshewasbeloved,shewantednow,atonce,toembracethemansheloved,tospeakandhearfromhimwordsoflovesuchasfilledherheart.

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