Mon cher Boris, — said Princess Anna Mikháylovna to her son, when Countess Rostóva's carriage, in which they were sitting, drove along the straw-covered street and entered the wide courtyard of Count Kiríll Vladímirovich Bezúkhov. — Mon cher Boris, — said the mother, freeing her hand from under her old pelisse and laying it with a timid and affectionate movement on her son's arm, — be amiable, be attentive. Count Kiríll Vladímirovich is, after all, your godfather, and your future destiny depends on him. Remember this, mon cher, be as nice as you know how to be...

— If I knew that anything would come of this besides humiliation... — answered the son coldly. — But I promised you, and I am doing this for you.

Despite the fact that someone's carriage was standing at the porch, the porter, after looking over mother and son (who, without sending to announce themselves, had walked straight into the glass porch between two rows of statues in niches), and looking significantly at the old pelisse, asked whom they wished to see, the princesses or the count, and learning that it was the count, said that his excellency was worse today and his excellency was receiving no one.

— We can go away, — said the son in French.

Mon ami! — said the mother in an imploring voice, again touching her son's arm, as if this touch could calm or rouse him.

Boris fell silent and, without taking off his overcoat, looked inquiringly at his mother.

— My dear man, — Anna Mikháylovna said in a tender little voice, addressing the porter, — I know that Count Kiríll Vladímirovich is very ill... that is why I have come... I am a relation... I shall not disturb him, my dear man... I only need to see Prince Vasíli Sergéyevich: he is staying here, you know. Please announce me.

The porter pulled the cord for the bell upstairs sullenly and turned away.

— Princess Drubetskáya to see Prince Vasíli Sergéyevich, — he shouted to a footman in stockings, shoes, and a tailcoat, who had run down from upstairs and was looking out from under the turn of the staircase.

The mother smoothed the folds of her dyed silk dress, looked at herself in the solid Venetian mirror on the wall, and briskly, in her trodden-down shoes, went up the carpeted stairs.

Mon cher, vous m'avez promis, — she turned to her son again, rousing him with a touch of her hand.

The son, lowering his eyes, followed her quietly.

They entered a hall, from which one door led to the apartments assigned to Prince Vasíli.

Just as mother and son, having come out into the middle of the room, were about to ask their way of an old footman who had jumped up at their entrance, the bronze handle of one of the doors turned, and Prince Vasíli, wearing a velvet coat with a single star, in domestic attire, came out, seeing off a handsome dark-haired man. This man was the famous Petersburg doctor, Lorrain.

C'est donc positif? — the prince was saying.

Mon prince, "errare humanum est", mais... — answered the doctor, rolling his r's and pronouncing the Latin words with a French accent.

C'est bien, c'est bien...

Noticing Anna Mikháylovna and her son, Prince Vasíli dismissed the doctor with a bow and approached them silently, but with an inquiring look. The son noticed how suddenly deep sorrow was expressed in his mother's eyes, and smiled slightly.

— Yes, in what sad circumstances we have had to meet, Prince... Well, how is our dear invalid? — she said, as though not noticing the cold, insulting look directed at her.

Prince Vasíli looked questioningly, even with perplexity, at her, then at Boris. Boris bowed politely. Prince Vasíli, not returning the bow, turned to Anna Mikháylovna and answered her question by a movement of his head and lips, which signified the very worst hope for the patient.

— Is it possible? — exclaimed Anna Mikháylovna. — Ah, it is terrible! Terrible to think... This is my son, — she added, pointing to Boris. — He himself wanted to thank you.

Boris bowed politely once more.

— Believe me, Prince, a mother's heart will never forget what you have done for us.

— I am glad I was able to do you a pleasure, my dear Anna Mikháylovna, — said Prince Vasíli, adjusting his frill, and manifesting in his gesture and voice here in Moscow, before his protégée Anna Mikháylovna, much greater importance even than in Petersburg at Annette Schérer's soirée.

— Try to serve well and be worthy, — he added, turning sternly to Boris. — I am glad... Are you here on leave? — he dictated in his impassive tone.

— I am waiting for an order, Your Excellency, to join my new post, — answered Boris, showing neither annoyance at the prince's sharp tone, nor any desire to enter into conversation, but so quietly and respectfully that the prince looked at him intently.

— Are you living with your mother?

— I live at Countess Rostóva's, — said Boris, adding again: — Your Excellency.

— That is the Ilyá Rostóv who married Nathalie Shinshiná, — said Anna Mikháylovna.

— I know, I know, — said Prince Vasíli in his monotonous voice. — Je n'ai jamais pu concevoir, comment Nathalie s'est décidée à épouser cet ours mal-léché! Un personnage complètement stupide et ridicule. Et joueur à ce qu'on dit.

Mais très brave homme, mon prince, — remarked Anna Mikháylovna, smiling touchingly, as if she too knew that Count Rostóv deserved such an opinion, but asked him to pity the poor old man.

— What do the doctors say? — asked the princess, after a short silence and again expressing great sorrow on her tear-stained face.

— Little hope, — said the prince.

— And I so wanted to thank my uncle once more for all his kindness to me and Bórya. C'est son filleul, — she added in a tone as if this news must extremely gladden Prince Vasíli.

Prince Vasíli grew thoughtful and frowned. Anna Mikháylovna understood that he was afraid of finding in her a rival for Count Bezúkhov's will. She hastened to reassure him.

— If it were not for my true love and devotion to my uncle, — she said, uttering that word with particular assurance and nonchalance: — I know his character, noble, straightforward, but then there are only the princesses with him... They are still young... — She bent her head and added in a whisper: — Has he performed his last duty, Prince? How precious these last moments are! Why, it can be no worse; he must be prepared, if he is so bad. We women, Prince, — she smiled tenderly, — always know how to say these things. It is essential to see him. However hard it may be for me, I am used to suffering.

The prince evidently understood, and understood, as at Annette Schérer's soirée, that it was hard to get rid of Anna Mikháylovna.

— Would this interview not be too heavy for him, chère Anna Mikháylovna, — he said. — Let us wait till evening, the doctors have promised a crisis.

— But one cannot wait, Prince, in these moments. Pensez, il у va du salut de son âme... Ah! c'est terrible, les devoirs d'un chrétien...

A door opened from the inner rooms, and one of the princesses, the count's nieces, came out, with a gloomy and cold face and a long waist remarkably out of proportion to her legs.

Prince Vasíli turned to her.

— Well, how is he?

— Just the same. And how can you expect, this noise... — said the princess, looking over Anna Mikháylovna as at a stranger.

Ah, chère, je ne vous reconnaissais pas, — said Anna Mikháylovna with a happy smile, approaching the count's niece at a light amble. — Je viens d'arriver et je suis à vous pour vous aider à soigner mon oncle, J'imagine, combien vous avez souffert, — she added, rolling her eyes with sympathy.

The princess answered nothing, did not even smile, and immediately went out. Anna Mikháylovna took off her gloves and in a conquered position settled herself in an armchair, inviting Prince Vasíli to sit beside her.

— Boris! — she said to her son and smiled, — I shall go to the count, to my uncle, and you go to Pierre, mon ami, meanwhile, and don't forget to give him the invitation from the Rostóvs. They are asking him to dinner. I suppose he won't go? — she turned to the prince.

— On the contrary, — said the prince, who was evidently out of humor. — Je serais très content si vous me débarrassez de ce jeune homme... Sitting here. The count has not once asked for him.

He shrugged his shoulders. A footman led the young man downstairs and up another staircase to Pëtr Kiríllovich.