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Yazar: Leo Tolstoy

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"This is what I want, my dear fellow," said the count to the
deferential young man who had entered. "Bring me..." he reflected
a moment, "yes, bring me seven hundred rubles, yes! But mind,
don't bring me such tattered and dirty notes as last time, but
nice clean ones for the countess."
"Yes, Dmitri, clean ones, please," said the countess, sighing
deeply.
"When would you like them, your excellency?" asked Dmitri. "Allow
me to inform you... But, don't be uneasy," he added, noticing
that the count was beginning to breathe heavily and quickly which
was always a sign of approaching anger. "I was forgetting... Do
you wish it brought at once?"
"Yes, yes; just so! Bring it. 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."

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