Pierre And 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
Till 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 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
O Pierre
I leave the room smiling.

And restraining tears of tenderness
Tears of joy that 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 my sleigh.