As a hunted, wounded beast looks at the approaching dogs and hunters, Natasha looked from one to the other.

“Natalya Ilyinitchna,” Pierre began, dropping his eyes and conscious of a feeling of pity for her and loathing for the operation he had to perform, “whether it is true or not cannot affect you since …”

“Then it is not true that he is married?”

“No; it is true.”

“Has he been married long?” she asked. “On your word of honour?”

Pierre told her so on his word of honour.

“Is he still here?” she asked rapidly.

“Yes, I have just seen him.”

She was obviously incapable of speaking; she made a sign with her hands for them to leave her alone.