“Ah, how annoying!” he muttered. “I should have come yesterday.⁠ ⁠… Ah, what a pity.”

Meanwhile, Mávra 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.