WhenPierreandhiswifeenteredthedrawingroomthecountesswasinoneofhercustomarystatesinwhichsheneededthementalexertionofplayingpatience, andso—thoughbyforceofhabitshegreetedhimwiththewordsshealwaysusedwhenPierreorhersonreturnedafteranabsence: "Hightime, mydear, hightime! , thankGod!" andreceivedherpresentswithanothercustomaryremark: "It'snotthegiftthat'sprecious, mydear, butthatyougiveittome, anoldwoman..."—yetitwasevidentthatshewasnotpleasedbyPierre'sarrivalatthatmomentwhenitdivertedherattentionfromtheunfinishedgame.
, ofsplendidworkmanship, abright-blueSevresteacupwithshepherdessesdepictedonitandwithalid, andagoldsnuffboxwiththecount', butasshedidnotwanttocryjustthensheglancedindifferentlyattheportraitandgaveherattentionchieflytotheboxforcards.
"Thankyou, mydear, youhavecheeredmeup," saidsheasshealwaysdid."Butbestofallyouhavebroughtyourselfback—forIneversawanythinglikeit, yououghttogiveyourwifeascolding! Whatarewetodowithher? 'tseeanything, doesn'trememberanything," shewenton, repeatingherusualphrases."Look, AnnaTimofeevna," sheaddedtohercompanion, "seewhataboxforcardsmysonhasbroughtus!"
Belovaadmiredthepresentsandwasdelightedwithherdressmaterial.
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