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"Yes," replied a footman in a bold loud voice, as if anything

were now permissible; "the door to the left, ma'am."

"Perhaps the count did not ask for me," said Pierre when he

reached the landing. "I'd better go to my own room."

Anna Mikhaylovna paused and waited for him to come up.

"Ah, my friend!" she said, touching his arm as she had done her

son's when speaking to him that afternoon, "believe me I suffer

no less than you do, but be a man!"

"But really, hadn't I better go away?" he asked, looking kindly

at her over his spectacles.

"Ah, my dear friend! Forget the wrongs that may have been done

you. Think that he is your father ... perhaps in the agony of

death." She sighed. "I have loved you like a son from the first.

Trust yourself to me, Pierre. I shall not forget your interests."

Pierre did not understand a word, but the conviction that all

this had to be grew stronger, and he meekly followed Anna

Mikhaylovna who was already opening a door.