She sat down at her writing table, on which stood miniature portraits and which was littered with books and papers.

The princess was as untidy as her father was tidy.

She put down the geometry book and eagerly broke the seal of her letter.

It was from her most intimate friend from childhood; that same Julie Karagina who had been at the Rostovs' name-day party.
Julie wrote in French: Dear and precious Friend, How terrible and frightful a thing is separation! Though I tell myself that half my life and half my happiness are wrapped up in you, and that in spite of the distance separating us our hearts are united by indissoluble bonds, my heart rebels against fate and in spite of the pleasures and distractions around me I cannot overcome a certain secret sorrow that has been in my heart ever since we parted.

Why are we not together as we were last summer, in your big study, on the blue sofa, the confidential sofa?
Why cannot I now, as three months ago, draw fresh moral strength from your look, so gentle, calm, and penetrating, a look I loved so well and seem to see before me as I write?
Having read thus far, Princess Mary sighed and glanced into the mirror which stood on her right.