“Yes. Wait a bit... I... saw him,” Sónya could not help saying, not yet knowing whom Natásha meant by him, Nicholas or Prince Andrew.
“But why shouldn’t I say I saw something? Others do see! Besides who can tell whether I saw anything or not?” flashed through Sónya’s mind.
“Yes, I saw him,” she said.
“How? Standing or lying?”
“No, I saw... At first there was nothing, then I saw him lying down.”
“Andrew lying? Is he ill?” asked Natásha, her frightened eyes fixed on her friend.
“No, on the contrary, on the contrary! His face was cheerful, and he turned to me.” And when saying this she herself fancied she had really seen what she described.
“Well, and then, Sónya?...”
“After that, I could not make out what there was; something blue and red....”
“Sónya! When will he come back? When shall I see him! O, God, how afraid I am for him and for myself and about everything!...” Natásha began, and without replying to Sónya’s words of comfort she got into bed, and long after her candle was out lay open-eyed and motionless, gazing at the moonlight through the frosty windowpanes.