The second letter was evidently not disagreeable, because the count smiled as he read it.
"Who's that from?" asked Polózof, returning to the room, and trying to arrange for himself a couch on the floor, near the oven.
"From Mina," replied the count gayly, handing him the letter. "Would you like to read it? What a lovely woman she is! Now, she's better than our young ladies, that's a fact. Just see what feeling and what wit in that letter! There's only one thing that I don't like,—she asks me for money!"
"No, that's not pleasant," replied the cornet.
"Well it's true I promised to give her some; but this expedition—And besides, if I am commander of the battalion, at the end of three months I will send some to her. I should not regret it; she's really a lovely woman. Isn't she?" he asked with a smile, following with his eyes Polózof's expression as he read the letter.
"Horribly misspelled, but sweet; it seems to me she really loves you," replied the cornet.
"Hm! I should think so! Only these women truly love when they do love."
"But who was that other letter from?" asked the cornet, pointing to the one which he had read.
"That? Oh, that's from a certain man, very ugly, to whom I owe a gambling debt, and this is the third time that he has reminded me of it. I can't pay it to him now. It's a stupid letter," replied the count, evidently nettled by the recollection of it.
The two officers remained silent for some little time. The cornet, who, it seemed, had come under Turbin's influence, drank his tea without speaking, though he occasionally cast a glance at the clouded face of the handsome count, who gazed steadily out of the window. He did not venture to renew the conversation.