“I often think, though, perhaps it’s a sin,” said the princess, “that here lives Count Kiríl Vladímirovich Bezúkhov so rich, all alone⁠ ⁠… that tremendous fortune⁠ ⁠… and what is his life worth? It’s a burden to him, and Borís’s life is only just beginning.⁠ ⁠…”

“Surely he will leave something to Borís,” said the countess.

“Heaven only knows, my dear! These rich grandees are so selfish. Still, I will take Borís and go to see him at once, and I shall speak to him straight out. Let people think what they will of me, it’s really all the same to me when my son’s fate is at stake.” The princess rose. “It’s now two o’clock and you dine at four. There will just be time.”

And like a practical Petersburg lady who knows how to make the most of time, Anna Mikháylovna sent someone to call her son, and went into the anteroom with him.

“Goodbye, my dear,” said she to the countess who saw her to the door, and added in a whisper so that her son should not hear, “Wish me good luck.”