Page 261 sur 3800

Princess Mary went back to her room with the sad, scared

expression that rarely left her and which made her plain, sickly

face yet plainer. She sat down at her writing table, on which

stood miniature portraits and which was littered with books and

papers. The princess was as untidy as her father was tidy. She

put down the geometry book and eagerly broke the seal of her

letter. It was from her most intimate friend from childhood; that

same Julie Karagina who had been at the Rostovs' name-day party.

Julie wrote in French: