Pierre & Natasha

Natasha was standing

In the middle of the drawing room

With a pale yet steady face

When I appeared in the doorway,

She grew flustered and I hurried to her

I thought that she would give me her hand

But instead she stopped,

Breathing heavily,

Her thin arms hanging lifelessly

Just in the very pose

She used to stand in as a young girl

When she went to the middle of the ballroom

To sing

But the look on her face was

Quite different

Peter Kirilovich—

Pierre

Prince Bolkonsky was your friend—

He is your friend

He once told me that I should turn to you

Pierre sniffed as he looked at her,

But he didn't speak

'Til then he had reproached her,

And tried to despise her

But now he felt such pity for her

That there was no room in his soul for reproach

He is here now

Tell him to—

Tell him to forgive me

Yes, I will tell him to forgive you

But, he gave me your letters—

No, I know that all is over

I know that it never can be

But still I'm tormented

By the wrongs I've done him

Tell him that I beg him to forgive,

Forgive,

Forgive me for everything

Yes I will tell him, tell him everything,

But—

But I should like to know one thing

Did you love—

Did you love that bad man?

Don't call him bad

But I don't know,

I don't know at all

She began to cry

And a greater sense of pity,

Tenderness, and love

Overflowed Pierre's heart

He felt the tears begin to trickle

Underneath his spectacles

And he hoped that no one would see

We won't speak of it anymore

We won't speak of it, my dear

But one thing I beg of you,

Consider me your friend

And if you ever need help,

Or simply to open your heart to someone

Not now, but when your mind is clear

Think of me

Pierre grew confused

Don't speak to me like that

I am not worth it!

Stop, stop, stop!

You have your whole life before you—

Before me?

No, all is over for me!

All over?

If I were not myself,

But the brightest,

Handsomest,

Best man on earth,

And if I were free,

I would get down on my knees,

This minute,

And ask you for your hand.

And for your love.

And for the first time in many days,

I weep tears of gratitude

Tears of tenderness

Tears of thanks

And, glancing at Pierre,

Oh, Pierre

I leave the room smiling

And restraining tears of tenderness,

Tears of joy which choke me,

I throw my fur coat on my shoulders,

Unable to find the sleeves

Outside, my great, broad chest

Breathes in deep the air

With joy

Despite the ten degrees of frost

And I get into my sleigh