Natasha and Pierre, left alone, also begin to talk as only a husband and wife can talk, with extraordinary clearness and rapidity, understanding and expressing each other's thoughts in ways contrary to all rules of logic, without premises, deductions, or conclusions. Natasha is so used to this kind of talk that for her it is the surest sign of something wrong if Pierre follows a line of logical reasoning. When he begins proving anything, or talking argumentatively and calmly, and she, led on by his example, begins to do the same, she knows they are on the verge of a quarrel. From the moment they are alone and she comes up with wide-open happy eyes, seizes his head, presses it to her bosom, and says now you are all mine, you will not escape, this conversation begins, contrary to all the laws of logic because quite different subjects are talked about at one and the same time. That simultaneous discussion does not prevent a clear understanding; it is the surest sign that they fully understand one another. Just as in a dream when all is uncertain except the feeling that guides the dream, so here the words themselves are not consecutive and clear, but only the feeling that prompted them.
Natasha speaks of her brother's life, of how she suffered and lacked life during Pierre's absence, of how she is fonder than ever of Mary, and how Mary is in every way better than herself. In saying this she is sincere in acknowledging Mary's superiority, and at the same time she makes a demand that he should, all the same, prefer her to Mary and to all other women, and that now, after seeing many women in Petersburg, he should tell her so afresh. Pierre tells her how intolerable it was to meet ladies at dinners and balls. He has quite lost the knack of talking to ladies. He never leaves off loving her. One could not love more, but this is something special. Their eyes meeting say the rest. What nonsense it is, Natasha exclaims, about honeymoons, and that the greatest happiness is at first. On the contrary, now is the best of all. If only you did not go away. Do you remember how we quarreled? It was always my fault. What we quarreled about I do not even remember. Always about the same thing, Pierre says with a smile. Jealo. Do not say it, Natasha cries, her eyes glittering coldly. Did you see her? No, and if I had I should not have recognized her.
They are silent. Then suddenly both begin to speak at once and stop to let the other continue. Meanwhile, in another room, young Nicholas Bolkonski dreams. His father, Prince Andrew, has neither shape nor form, but he exists, and when the boy perceives him he grows faint with love, powerless, limp, formless. His father caresses and pities him. Uncle Nicholas comes nearer. Terror seizes him and he awakes. My father has been with me and caressed me. He approved of me and of Uncle Pierre. Whatever he may tell me, I will do it. Mucius Scaevola burned his hand. Why should not the same sort of thing happen to me? I know they want me to learn. I will learn. Someday I shall have finished learning, and then I will do something. I only pray God that something may happen to me such as happened to Plutarch's men, and I will act as they did. I will do better. Everyone shall know me, love me, and be delighted with me. His bosom heaves with sobs. Dessalles asks if he is ill. No. He is good and kind and I am fond of him, the boy thinks of Dessalles. But Uncle Pierre. Oh, what a wonderful man. And my father? Yes, I will do something with which even he would be satisfied.
