-" he repeated,
stressing the word "God" so unnaturally and so unpleasantly that
Princess Mary stood with downcast eyes not daring to look either at her
father or at Natasha.

Nor did the latter, having risen and curtsied, know what to do.
Mademoiselle Bourienne alone smiled agreeably.

"I beg you to excuse me, excuse me! God is my witness, I did not know,"
muttered the old man, and after looking Natasha over from head to foot
he went out.

Mademoiselle Bourienne was the first to recover herself after this
apparition and began speaking about the prince's indisposition. Natasha
and Princess Mary looked at one another in silence, and the longer they
did so without saying what they wanted to say, the greater grew their
antipathy to one another.

When the count returned, Natasha was impolitely pleased and hastened
to get away: at that moment she hated the stiff, elderly princess, who
could place her in such an embarrassing position and had spent half an
hour with her without once mentioning Prince Andrew. "I couldn't begin
talking about him in the presence of that Frenchwoman," thought Natasha.
The same thought was meanwhile tormenting Princess Mary. She knew what
she ought to have said to Natasha, but she had been unable to say it
because Mademoiselle Bourienne was in the way, and because, without
knowing why, she felt it very difficult to speak of the marriage. When
the count was already leaving the room, Princess Mary went up hurriedly
to Natasha, took her by the hand, and said with a deep sigh:

"Wait, I must..."

Natasha glanced at her ironically without knowing why.

"Dear Natalie," said Princess Mary, "I want you to know that I am glad
my brother has found happiness...."

She paused, feeling that she was not telling the truth. Natasha noticed
this and guessed its reason.

"I think, Princess, it is not convenient to speak of that now," she said
with external dignity and coldness, though she felt the tears choking
her.

"What have I said and what have I done?" thought she, as soon as she was
out of the room.

They waited a long time for Natasha to come to dinner that day. She sat
in her room crying like a child, blowing her nose and sobbing. Sonya
stood beside her, kissing her hair.

"Natasha, what is it about?" she asked. "What do they matter to you? It
will all pass, Natasha."

"But if you only knew how offensive it was... as if I..."

"Don't talk about it, Natasha. It wasn't your fault so why shou