THE FEELING of aloofness from all the world, that Natasha experienced at this time, she felt in an even more marked degree with the members of her own family. All her own family, her father and mother and Sonya, were so near her, so everyday and ordinary that every word they uttered, every feeling they expressed, was jarring in the world in which she had lived of late. She felt more than indifference, positive hostility to them. She heard Dunyasha's words of Pyotr Ilyitch, of a misfortune, but she did not understand them.

“What misfortune could they have, what misfortune is possible to them? Everything goes on in its old, regular, easy way with them,” Natasha was saying inwardly.

As she went into the drawing-room, her father came quickly out of the countess's room. His face was puckered up and wet with tears. He had evidently run out of the room to give vent to the sobs that were choking him. Seeing Natasha, he waved his arms in despair, and went off into violent, miserable sobs, that convulsed his soft, round face.

“Pet … Petya … Go, go in, she's calling …” And sobbing like a child, he tottered with feeble legs to a chair, and almost dropped on to it, hiding his face in his hands.

An electric shock seemed to run all through Natasha. Some fearful pain seemed to stab her to the heart. She felt a poignant anguish; it seemed to her that something was being rent within her, and she was dying. But with the pain she felt an instant release from the seal that shut her out of life. At the sight of her father, and the sound of a fearful, husky scream from her mother through the door, she instantly forgot herself and her own sorrow.

She ran up to her father, but he feebly motioned her towards her mother's door. Princess Marya, with a white face and quivering lower jaw, came out and took Natasha's hand, saying something to her. Natasha neither saw nor heard her. With swift steps she went towards the door, stopped for an instant as though struggling with herself, and ran in to her mother.

The countess was lying down on a low chair in a strange awkward attitude; she was beating her head against the wall. Sonya and some maid-servants were holding her by the arms.

“Natasha, Natasha!…” the countess was screaming. “It's not true, not true … it's false … Natasha!” she screamed, pushing the maids away. “All you go away, it's not true! Killed!…ha, ha, ha!…not true!…”

Natasha knelt down on the low chair, bent over her mother, embraced her, with surprising strength lifted her up, turned her face to her, and pressed close to her.

“Mama! … darling! … I'm here, dearest mamma,” she whispered to her, never ceasing for a second.

She would not let her mother go; she struggled tenderly with her, asked for pillows and water, unbuttoned and tore open her mother's dress. “Dearest … my darling … mamma … my precious,” she whispered without pausing, kissing her head, her hands, her face, and feeling the tears streaming in irrepressible floods over her nose and cheeks.

The countess squeezed her daughter's hand, closed her eyes, and was quieter for a moment. All at once she sat up with unnatural swiftness, looked vacantly round, and seeing Natasha, began hugging her head to her with all her might. Natasha's face involuntarily worked with the pain, as her mother turned it toward her, and gazed a long while into it. “Natasha, you love me,” she said, in a soft, confiding whisper. “Natasha, you won't deceive me? You will tell me the whole truth?”

Natasha looked at her with eyes swimming with tears, and in her face seemed only imploring her love and forgiveness.

“Mamma … darling,” she kept repeating, putting forth all the strength of her love to try somehow to take a little of the crushing load of sorrow off her mother on to herself.

And again in the helpless struggle with reality, the mother, refusing to believe that she could live while her adored boy, just blossoming into life, was dead, took refuge from reality in the world of delirium.

Natasha had no recollection of how she spent that day and that night, and the following day and the following night. She did not sleep, and did not leave her mother's side. Natasha's love, patient and persistent, seemed to enfold the countess on all sides every second, offering no explanation, no consolation, simply beckoning her back to life.

On the third night the countess was quiet for a few minutes, and Natasha closed her eyes, her head propped on the arm of the chair. The bedstead creaked; Natasha opened her eyes. The countess was sitting up in bed, and talking softly.

“How glad I am you have come home. You are tired, won't you have tea?” Natasha went up to her. “You have grown so handsome and manly,” the countess went on, taking her daughter's hand.

“Mamma, what are you saying …?”

“Natasha, he is gone, he is no more.” And embracing her daughter, the countess for the first time began to weep.

娜塔莎除了对所有的人都有疏远感觉之外，这时她对家中的亲人有特别疏远的感觉。所有的亲人：父亲、母亲、索尼娅，对她如此亲近，一切都和往常一样，以致他们的言谈、感情，她都认为对她近来所处的那个世界是一种侮辱，因而她不仅对他们冷淡，而且敌视他们。她听到杜尼亚莎说的关于彼得·伊利伊奇不幸的消息，但是她不明白她说的是什么意思。

“他们会有什么不幸，怎么可能有不幸？他们一切都是老样子，习以为常、平平静静。”娜塔莎心中说。

当她走近大厅时，父亲匆忙从伯爵夫人房间走出来，满面皱纹，老泪纵横。他从那屋里出来显然是为了能放声痛哭，以泄出心中压抑的哀伤。他看见娜塔莎，绝望地两手一掸，他那柔和的圆脸庞上的肌肉剧烈抽搐着、扭曲着，发出痛苦的哽咽声。

“彼……彼佳……你去吧，去吧，她……她……叫你……”她像小孩子一样大哭着，急速地挪动衰弱的脚步走向一把椅子，他两手捂着脸，几乎是跌倒在椅子里。

忽然间一股电流仿佛通过了娜塔莎的全身，有一种东西出其不意地袭击她的心窝，她疼痛万分，好像觉得她身上有一块东西给扯掉似的，她在死去。在这一阵剧痛消失以后，她倏忽感到她已摆脱那内在的禁锢生活的痛苦。她瞧见父亲，听见母亲从门里发出一阵可怕的疯狂的叫喊，她立刻就把她自己和自己的不幸都置之于脑后。她朝她父亲跟前跑去，而他软弱无力地挥动着手臂，指着母亲的房门。玛丽亚公爵小姐走出门来，脸色惨白，下巴颏打战，紧紧地抓住娜塔莎的手，对她说了什么话。娜塔莎对她视若无睹，听若罔闻。她加快脚步往门里走去，顿了一顿，仿佛在同她自己作斗争，紧接着向她的母亲面前跑去。

伯爵夫人躺在安乐椅中，笨拙地挺伸身体，向墙上碰头，索尼娅和女仆们按住她的双手。

“娜塔莎！娜塔莎！……”伯爵夫人喊道。“不是真的，不是真的……他说谎……娜塔莎！”她一边喊，一边把周围的人推开。“你们都走开，不是真的！打死啦？！……哈—哈—哈！

……不是真的！”

娜塔莎一条腿跪在安乐椅上，俯下身子，抱住她，以出乎意外的气力抱了起来，把她的脸转向自己，紧紧搂住她。

“妈妈！……亲爱的！……我在这儿，亲爱的……妈妈。”

她轻轻地呼唤着。

她不放开母亲，她哭天嚎地，她使劲搂着，她要来水和枕头，解开母亲的衣服。

“我的好妈妈，亲爱的……妈妈……亲爱的妈妈。”她不停地轻声呼唤着，吻她的头、手脸，泪如泉涌，鼻子和两腮都发痒。

伯爵夫人挽住女儿的手，闭上了眼睛，稍稍安静下来，突然她以从未有过的迅捷站起身来，茫然四顾，她看见娜塔莎，用尽全力搂着她的头，然后把她那痛得皱起眉头的脸转向自己，久久地凝望着。

“娜塔莎，你是爱我的，”她以轻细的、信任的口气说，“娜塔莎，你不会骗我吧？你能把全部实情告诉我吗？”

娜塔莎热泪盈眶，她看着妈妈，她的脸上和眼睛只有祈求宽恕和怜爱的表情。

“我的好妈妈呀，好妈妈。”她反复地说，她竭尽全部爱的力量，为了能分担压在母亲身上的过度悲哀。

母亲逃避不了残酷的现实，又一次进行软弱无力的斗争，她难以相信，她的爱子英年早逝，而她还能够活下去。

娜塔莎不记得那一整天，那天夜里，第二天和第二天夜里都是怎样过来的。她没有睡觉，也没有离开母亲。娜塔莎的爱是顽强的，温情的，她没有怎样劝解，没有怎样安慰，而是对生活的召唤，这种爱似乎每一秒钟都从各个方面包围着伯爵夫人。第三天夜里伯爵夫人安静了几分钟，娜塔莎把头靠在安乐椅的扶手上，合了一会儿眼睛。床响了一下。娜塔莎睁开眼，伯爵夫人坐在床上，轻声说道：

“你回来了，我多么高兴，你累了，要喝点茶吗？”娜塔莎走到她跟前。“你长得好看些了，长成大人了。”伯爵夫人握住了娜塔莎的手，继续说道。

“妈妈，您说什么啊！……”

“娜塔莎，他不在了，永远不会回来了！”伯爵夫人抱住女儿，第一次哭出声来了。