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Rostov felt that, under the influence of the warm rays of love,

that childlike smile which had not once appeared on his face

since he left home now for the first time after eighteen months

again brightened his soul and his face.

"No, but listen," she said, "now you are quite a man, aren't you?

I'm awfully glad you're my brother." She touched his mustache. "I

want to know what you men are like. Are you the same as we? No?"

"Why did Sonya run away?" asked Rostov.

"Ah, yes! That's a whole long story! How are you going to speak

to her-thou or you?"

"As may happen," said Rostov.

"No, call her you, please! I'll tell you all about it some other

time. No, I'll tell you now. You know Sonya's my dearest friend.

Such a friend that I burned my arm for her sake. Look here!"

She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him a red scar on her

long, slender, delicate arm, high above the elbow on that part

that is covered even by a ball dress.