ThateveningtheRostovswenttotheOpera, forwhichMaryaDmitrievnahadtakenabox.
Natashadidnotwanttogo, butcouldnotrefuseMaryaDmitrievna', andlookinginthelargemirrortheresawthatshewaspretty, verypretty, shefeltevenmoresad, butitwasasweet, tendersadness.
"OGod, ifhewereherenowIwouldnotbehaveasIdidthen, , Iwouldsimplyembracehim, clingtohim, andmakehimlookatmewiththosesearchinginquiringeyeswithwhichhehassooftenlookedatme, —howIseethoseeyes!" thoughtNatasha."Andwhatdohisfatherandsistermattertome? Ilovehimalone, him, him, withthatfaceandthoseeyes, withhissmile, manlyandyetchildlike....No, Ihadbetternotthinkofhim; notthinkofhimbutforgethim, 'tbearthiswaitingandIshallcryinaminute!" andsheturnedawayfromtheglass, makinganeffortnottocry."AndhowcanSonyaloveNicholassocalmlyandquietlyandwaitsolongandsopatiently?" thoughtshe, lookingatSonya, whoalsocameinquiteready, withafaninherhand."No, she''t!"
Natashaatthatmomentfeltsosoftenedandtenderthatitwasnotenoughforhertoloveandknowshewasbeloved, shewantednow, atonce, toembracethemansheloved, , pensivelywatchingthelightsofthestreetlampsflickeringonthefrozenwindow, shefeltstillsadderandmoreinlove, , theRostovs' carriagedroveuptothetheater, , holdinguptheirdresses, , and, passingamongmenandwomenwhowereenteringandtheprogramsellers, .
"Natasha, yourhair!..." whisperedSonya.
