It brought to mind string instruments and Russia, as “Kussova” had suggested an arrow, powerful and direct, and “Oblonova” graceful curvature, voluptuous and honeyed. Names had always held a magic for her. “Natasha” had been in the prison of her youth, harsh and barren, and that was why only ever permitted Diaghilev to use it. Riazhina. She would not have married Pierre but for this baby. The pregnancy enveloped her as compressed heat does a hothouse flower. She fought its smothering effect, and yet her own self, Natalia, kept being pushed back, choked down by this invasion, which she resented even more than she had resented Arkady’s. She thought: They have conspired against me, Pierre and his child. In her heart she reared her head and cried out her rebellion, her feeling of doom. The child was killing the woman, as once before the woman had thought she had killed a child. This pregnancy had taken well. This time the fetus was firmly embedded in her womb, and, after much hesitation, the doctor had pronounced her fit and able to lead a normal life.
