For some time he stood in silence considering whether he should follow him or go away."No, he does not want it!" Pierre concluded."And I know that this is our last meeting!" He sighed deeply and rode back to Gorki.
On re-entering the shed Prince Andrew lay down on a rug, but he could not sleep.
He closed his eyes. One picture succeeded another in his imagination. On one of them he dwelt long and joyfully. He vividly recalled an evening in Petersburg. Natasha with animated and excited face was telling him how she had gone to look for mushrooms the previous summer and had lost her way in the big forest. She incoherently described the depths of the forest, her feelings, and a talk with a beekeeper she met, and constantly interrupted her story to say:"No, I can't! I'm not telling it right; no, you don't understand," though he encouraged her by saying that he did understand, and he really had understood all she wanted to say. But Natasha was not satisfied with her own words: she felt that they did not convey the passionately poetic feeling she had experienced that day and wished to convey."He was such a delightful old man, and it was so dark in the forest . . . and he had such kind . . . No, I can't describe it," she had said, flushed and excited. Prince Andrew smiled now the same happy smile as then when he had looked into her eyes."I understood her," he thought."I not only understood her, but it was just that inner, spiritual force, that sincerity, that frankness of soul — that very soul of hers which seemed to be fettered by her body — it was that soul I loved in her . . . loved so strongly and happily . . ." and suddenly he remembered how his love had ended."He did not need anything of that kind. He neither saw nor understood anything of the sort. He only saw in her a pretty and fresh young girl, with whom he did not deign to unite his fate. And I? . . . and he is still alive and gay!"
Prince Andrew jumped up as if someone had burned him, and again began pacing up and down in front of the shed.
