Kuzmínichna was attentively and sympathetically examining the familiar Rostóv features of the young man’s face, his tattered coat and trodden-down boots.
“What did you want to see the count for?” she asked.
“Oh well … it can’t be helped!” said he in a tone of vexation and placed his hand on the gate as if to leave.
He again paused in indecision.
“You see,” he suddenly said, “I am a kinsman of the count’s and he has been very kind to me. As you see” (he glanced with an amused air and good-natured smile at his coat and boots) “my things are worn out and I have no money, so I was going to ask the count …”
Mávra Kuzmínichna did not let him finish.
“Just wait a minute, sir. One little moment,” said she.
And as soon as the officer let go of the