Nekhludoff dressed leisurely, and went into the dining-room.  A table, which looked very imposing with its four legs carved in the shape of lions’ paws, and a huge side-board to match, stood in the oblong room, the floor of which had been polished by three men the day before.  On the table, which was covered with a fine, starched cloth, stood a silver coffeepot full of aromatic coffee, a sugar basin, a jug of fresh cream, and a bread basket filled with fresh rolls, rusks, and biscuits; and beside the plate lay the last number of the Revue des Deux Mondes, a newspaper, and several letters.

Nekhludoff was just going to open his letters, when a stout, middle-aged woman in mourning, a lace cap covering the widening parting of her hair, glided into the room.  This was Agraphena Petrovna, formerly lady’s maid to Nekhludoff’s mother.  Her mistress had died quite recently in this very house, and she remained with the son as his housekeeper.  Agraphena Petrovna had spent nearly ten years, at different times, abroad with Nekhludoff’s mother, and had the appearance and manners of a lady.  She had lived with the Nekhludoffs from the time she was a child, and had known Dmitri Ivanovitch at the time when he was still little Mitinka.

“Good-morning, Dmitri Ivanovitch.”

“Good-morning, Agraphena Petrovna.  What is it you want?” Nekhludoff asked.

“A letter from the princess; either from the mother or the daughter.  The maid brought it some time ago, and is waiting in my room,” answered Agraphena Petrovna, handing him the letter with a significant smile.

“All right!  Directly!” said Nekhludoff, taking the letter and frowning as he noticed Agraphena Petrovna’s smile.

That smile meant that the letter was from the younger Princess Korchagin, whom Agraphena Petrovna expected him to marry.  This supposition of hers annoyed Nekhludoff.

“Then I’ll tell her to wait?” and Agraphena Petrovna took a crumb brush which was not in its place, put it away, and sailed out of the room.

Nekhludoff opened the perfumed note, and began reading it.

The note was written on a sheet of thick grey paper, with rough edges; the writing looked English.  It said: 

Having assumed the task of acting as your memory, I take the liberty of reminding you that on this the 28th day of April you have to appear at the Law Courts, as juryman, and, in consequence, can on no account accompany us and Kolosoff to the picture gallery, as, with your habitual flightiness, you promised yesterday; a moins que vous ne soyez dispose a payer la cour d’assise les 300 roubles d’amende que vous vous refusez pour votre cheval, for not appearing in time.  I remembered it last night after you were gone, so do not forget.

Princess M. Korchagin.

On the other side was a postscript.

Maman vous fait dire que votre convert vous attendra jusqu’a la nuit.  Venez absolument a quelle heure que cela soit.