The courier who had been sent on in advance to find out where the Rostóvs were staying in Yaroslávl, and in what condition Prince Andrew was, when he met the big coach just entering the town gates was appalled by the terrible pallor of the princess’ face that looked out at him from the window.
“I have found out everything, your excellency: the Rostóvs are staying at the merchant Brónnikov’s house, in the Square not far from here, right above the Vólga,” said the courier.
Princess Mary looked at him with frightened inquiry, not understanding why he did not reply to what she chiefly wanted to know: how was her brother? Mademoiselle Bourienne put that question for her.
“How is the prince?” she asked.
“His excellency is staying in the same house with them.”
“Then he is alive,” thought Princess Mary, and asked in a low voice: “How is he?”
“The servants say he is still the same.”
What “still the same” might mean Princess Mary did not ask, but with an unnoticed glance at little seven-year-old Nicholas, who was sitting in front of her looking with pleasure at the town, she bowed her head and did not raise it again till the heavy coach, rumbling, shaking and swaying, came to a stop. The carriage steps clattered as they were let down.
The carriage door was opened. On the left there was water—a great river—and on the right a porch. There were people at the entrance: servants, and a rosy girl with a large plait of black hair, smiling as it seemed to Princess Mary in an unpleasantly affected way. (This was Sónya.) Princess Mary ran up the steps. “This way, this way!” said the girl, with the same artificial smile, and the princess found herself in the hall facing an elderly woman of Oriental type, who came rapidly to meet her with a look of emotion. This was the countess. She embraced Princess Mary and kissed her.
“Mon enfant!” she muttered, “je vous aime et vous connais depuis longtemps.” *