Don't come in,

　　"Petya, you're a stupid!" said Natasha.

　　"Not more stupid than you, madam," said the nine-year-old Petya,with the air of an old brigadier.

　　The countess had been prepared by Anna Mikhaylovna's hints atdinner. On retiring to her own room, she sat in an armchair, hereyes fixed on a miniature portrait of her son on the lid of asnuffbox, while the tears kept coming into her eyes. Anna Mikhaylovna,with the letter, came on tiptoe to the countess' door and paused.

　　"Don't come in," she said to the old count who was following her."Come later." And she went in, closing the door behind her.

　　The count put his ear to the keyhole and listened.

　　At first he heard the sound of indifferent voices, then AnnaMikhaylovna's voice alone in a long speech, then a cry, thensilence, then both voices together with glad intonations, and thenfootsteps. Anna Mikhaylovna opened the door. Her face wore the proudexpression of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult operationand admits the public to appreciate his skill.

　　"It is done!" she said to the count, pointing triumphantly to thecountess, who sat holding in one hand the snuffbox with its portraitand in the other the letter, and pressing them alternately to herlips.

　　When she saw the count, she stretched out her arms to him,embraced his bald head, over which she again looked at the letterand the portrait, and in order to press them again to her lips, sheslightly pushed away the bald head. Vera, Natasha, Sonya, and Petyanow entered the room, and the reading of the letter began. After abrief description of the campaign and the two battles in which hehad taken part, and his promotion, Nicholas said that he kissed hisfather's and mother's hands asking for their blessing, and that hekissed Vera, Natasha, and Petya. Besides that, he sent greetings toMonsieur Schelling, Madame Schoss, and his old nurse, and asked themto kiss for him "dear Sonya, whom he loved and thought of just thesame as ever." When she heard this Sonya blushed so that tears cameinto her eyes and, unable to bear the looks turned upon her, ranaway into the dancing hall, whirled round it at full speed with herdress puffed out like a balloon, and, flushed and smiling, plumpeddown on the floor. The countess was crying.

　　"Why are you crying, Mamma?" asked Vera. "From all he says oneshould be glad and not cry."

　　This was quite true, but the count, the countess, and Natasha lookedat her reproachfully. "And who is it she takes after?" thought thecountess.