Give it to the countess." "What a treasure that Dmitri is," added the count with a smile when the young man had departed.

"There is never any 'impossible' with him.
That's a thing I hate! Everything is possible." "Ah, money, Count, money! How much sorrow it causes in the world," said the countess.

"But I am in great need of this sum." "You, my little countess, are a notorious spendthrift," said the count, and having kissed his wife's hand he went back to his study.
When Anna Mikhaylovna returned from Count Bezukhov's the money, all in clean notes, was lying ready under a handkerchief on the countess' little table, and Anna Mikhaylovna noticed that something was agitating her.
"Well, my dear ?" asked the countess.
"Oh, what a terrible state he is in! One would not know him, he is so ill! I was only there a few moments and hardly said a word..." "Annette, for heaven's sake don't refuse me," the countess began, with a blush that looked very strange on her thin, dignified, elderly face, and she took the money from under the handkerchief.
Anna Mikhaylovna instantly guessed her intention and stooped to be ready to embrace the countess at the appropriate moment.
"This is for Boris from me, for his outfit." Anna Mikhaylovna was already embracing her and weeping.

The countess wept too.

They wept because they were friends, and because they were kindhearted, and because they--friends from childhood--had to think about such a base thing as money, and because their youth was over....
But those tears were pleasant to them both..