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w notabilities, all the Rostovs' acquaintances, were at the Razumovskis' chapel,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], for, as if expecting something to happen, many wealthy families who usually left town for their country estates had not gone away that summer. As Natasha, at her mother's side, passed through the crowd behind a liveried footman who cleared the way for them, she heard a young man speaking about her in too loud a whisper.　　"That's Rostova, the one who..."　　"She's much thinner, but all the same she's pretty!"　　She heard, or thought she heard,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the names of Kuragin and Bolkonski. But she was always imagining that. It always seemed to her that everyone who looked at her was thinking only of what had happened to her. With a sinking heart, wretched as she always was now when she found herself in a crowd, Natasha in her lilac silk dress trimmed with black lace walked- as women can walk- with the more repose and stateliness the greater the pain and shame in her soul. She knew for certain that she was pretty, but this no longer gave her satisfaction as it used to. On the contrary it tormented her more than anything else of late, and particularly so on this bright, hot summer day in town. "It's Sunday again- another week past," she thought, recalling that she had been here the Sunday before, "and always the same life that is no life,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and the same surroundings in which it used to be so easy to live. I'm pretty, I'm young, and I know that now I am good. I used to be bad, but now I know I am good,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]," she th
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