BOOK TWELVE: 1812
14. CHAPTER XIV
(continued)
Natasha was gazing at her, but seemed afraid and in doubt whether to
say all she knew or not; she seemed to feel that before those luminous
eyes which penetrated into the very depths of her heart, it was
impossible not to tell the whole truth which she saw. And suddenly,
Natasha's lips twitched, ugly wrinkles gathered round her mouth, and
covering her face with her hands she burst into sobs.
Princess Mary understood.
But she still hoped, and asked, in words she herself did not trust:
"But how is his wound? What is his general condition?"
"You, you... will see," was all Natasha could say.
They sat a little while downstairs near his room till they had
left off crying and were able to go to him with calm faces.
"How has his whole illness gone? Is it long since he grew worse?
When did this happen?" Princess Mary inquired.
Natasha told her that at first there had been danger from his
feverish condition and the pain he suffered, but at Troitsa that had
passed and the doctor had only been afraid of gangrene. That danger
had also passed. When they reached Yaroslavl the wound had begun to
fester (Natasha knew all about such things as festering) and the
doctor had said that the festering might take a normal course. Then
fever set in, but the doctor had said the fever was not very serious.
"But two days ago this suddenly happened," said Natasha,
struggling with her sobs. "I don't know why, but you will see what
he is like."
"Is he weaker? Thinner?" asked the princess.
"No, it's not that, but worse. You will see. O, Mary, he is too
good, he cannot, cannot live, because..."
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