Anna MikhĂĄylovna, who always knew everything that passed in the house, on hearing of the arrival of the letter went softly into the room and found the count with it in his hand, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

Anna MikhĂĄylovna, though her circumstances had improved, was still living with the RostĂłvs.

“My dear friend?” said she, in a tone of pathetic inquiry, prepared to sympathize in any way.

The count sobbed yet more.

“NikolĂșshka⁠ ⁠
 a letter⁠ ⁠
 wa⁠ ⁠
 a⁠ ⁠
 s⁠ ⁠
 wounded⁠ ⁠
 my darling boy⁠ ⁠
 the countess⁠ ⁠
 promoted to be an officer⁠ ⁠
 thank God⁠ ⁠
 How tell the little countess!”

Anna Mikháylovna sat down beside him, with her own handkerchief wiped the tears from his eyes and from the letter, then having dried her own eyes she comforted the count, and decided that at dinner and till teatime she would prepare the countess, and after tea, with God’s help, would inform her.

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