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This young man, of whom I spoke to you last summer, is so

noble-minded and full of that real youthfulness which one seldom

finds nowadays among our old men of twenty and, particularly, he

is so frank and has so much heart. He is so pure and poetic that

my relations with him, transient as they were, have been one of

the sweetest comforts to my poor heart, which has already

suffered so much. Someday I will tell you about our parting and

all that was said then. That is still too fresh. Ah, dear friend,

you are happy not to know these poignant joys and sorrows. You

are fortunate, for the latter are generally the stronger! I know

very well that Count Nicholas is too young ever to be more to me

than a friend, but this sweet friendship, this poetic and pure

intimacy, were what my heart needed. But enough of this! The

chief news, about which all Moscow gossips, is the death of old

Count Bezukhov, and his inheritance. Fancy!