He glanced at her and was struck by the serious, impassioned look in her face. Her face seemed to say： “Why ask？ Why doubt of what you cannot but know？ Why talk when no words can express what one feels？”
She came nearer to him and stopped. He took her hand and kissed it.
“Do you love me？”
“Yes, yes,” said Natasha, almost angrily it seemed. She drew a deep sigh, and another, her breathing came more and more quickly, and she burst into sobs.
“What is it？ What’s the matter？”
“Oh, I am so happy,” she answered, smiling through her tears. She bent over closer to him, thought a second, as though wondering whether it were possible, and then kissed him.
Prince Andrey held her hands, looked into her eyes and could find no trace of his former love for her in his heart. Some sudden reaction seemed to have taken place in his soul; there was none of the poetic and mysterious charm of desire left in it; instead of that there was pity for her feminine and childish weakness, terror at her devotion and trustfulness, an irksome, yet sweet, sense of duty, binding him to her for ever. The actual feeling, though not so joyous and poetical as the former feeling, was more serious and deeper.
“Did your mamma tell you that it cannot be for a year？” said Prince Andrey, still gazing into her eyes.
“Can this be I, the baby-girl （as every one used to call me）？” Natasha was thinking. “Can I really be from this minute a wife, on a level with this unknown, charming, intellectual man, who is looked up to even by my father？ Can it be true？ Can it be true that now there can be no more playing with life, that now I am grown up, that now a responsibility is laid upon me for every word and action？ Oh, what did he ask me？”
“No,” she answered, but she had not understood his question.
“Forgive me,” said Prince Andrey, “but you are so young, and I have had so much experience of life. I am afraid for you. You don’t know yourself.”
Natasha listened with concentrated attention, trying to take in the meaning of his words; but she did not understand them
“Hard as that year will be to me, delaying my happiness,” continued Prince Andrey, “in that time you will be sure of yourself. I beg you to make me happy in a year, but you are free; our engagement shall be kept a secret, and if you should find out that you do not love me, or if you should come to love …” said Prince Andrey with a forced smile.
“Why do you say that？” Natasha interrupted. “You know that from the very day when you first came to Otradnoe, I have loved you,” she said, firmly persuaded that she was speaking the truth.
“In a year you will learn to know yourself.…”
“A who-ole year！” cried Natasha suddenly, only now grasping that their marriage was to be deferred for a year. “But why a year？ … Why a year？…”
Prince Andrey began to explain to her the reasons for this delay. Natasha did not hear him.
“And can’t it be helped？” she asked. Prince Andrey made no reply, but his face expressed the impossibility of altering this decision.
“That’s awful！ Oh, it’s awful, awful！” Natasha cried suddenly, and she broke into sobs again. “I shall die if I have to wait a year; it’s impossible, it’s awful.” She glanced at her lover’s face and saw the look of sympathetic pain and perplexity on it.
“No, no, I’ll do anything,” she said, suddenly checking her tears; “I’m so happy！”
Her father and mother came into the room and gave the betrothed couple their blessing. From that day Prince Andrey began to visit the Rostovs as Natasha’s affianced lover.
