“How do you do, cousin?” said Pierre. “You don’t recognize me?”
“I recognize you only too well, too well.”
“How is the count? Can I see him?” asked Pierre, awkwardly as usual, but unabashed.
“The count is suffering physically and mentally, and apparently you have done your best to increase his mental sufferings.”
“Can I see the count?” Pierre again asked.
“Hm. … If you wish to kill him, to kill him outright, you can see him … Olga, go and see whether Uncle’s beef tea is ready—it is almost time,” she added, giving Pierre to understand that they were busy, and busy making his father comfortable, while evidently he, Pierre, was only busy causing him annoyance.
Olga went out. Pierre stood looking at the sisters; then he bowed and said: “Then I will go to my rooms. You will let me know when I can see him.”
And he left the room, followed by the low but ringing laughter of the sister with the mole.
Next day Prince Vasíli had arrived and settled in the count’s house. He sent for Pierre and said to him: “My dear fellow, if you are going to behave here as you did in Petersburg, you will end very badly; that is all I have to say to you. The count is very, very ill, and you must not see him at all.”