"No, we've been hunting in the Tver province. It was coming back

from there that I met your _beaufrère_ in the train, or your

_beaufrère's_ brother-in-law," he said with a smile. "It was an

amusing meeting."

And he began telling with droll good-humor how, after not

sleeping all night, he had, wearing an old fur-lined,

full-skirted coat, got into Alexey Alexandrovitch's compartment.

"The conductor, forgetting the proverb, would have chucked me out

on account of my attire; but thereupon I began expressing my

feelings in elevated language, and...you, too," he said,

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addressing Karenin and forgetting his name, "at first would have

ejected me on the ground of the old coat, but afterwards you took

my part, for which I am extremely grateful."

"The rights of passengers generally to choose their seats are too

ill-defined," said Alexey Alexandrovitch, rubbing the tips of his

fingers on his handkerchief.

"I saw you were in uncertainty about me," said Levin, smiling

good-naturedly, "but I made haste to plunge into intellectual

conversation to smooth over the defects of my attire."

Sergey Ivanovitch, while he kept up a conversation with their

hostess, had one ear for his brother, and he glanced askance at

him. "What is the matter with him today? Why such a conquering

hero?" he thought. He did not know that Levin was feeling as

though he had grown wings. Levin knew she was listening to his

words and that she was glad to listen to him. And this was the

only thing that interested him. Not in that room only, but in

the whole world, there existed for him only himself, with

enormously increased importance and dignity in his own eyes, and

she. He felt himself on a pinnacle that made him giddy, and far

away down below were all those nice excellent Karenins,

Oblonskys, and all the world.

Quite without attracting notice, without glancing at them, as

though there were no other places left, Stepan Arkadyevitch put

Levin and Kitty side by side.

"Oh, you may as well sit there," he said to Levin.

The dinner was as choice as the china, in which Stepan

Arkadyevitch was a connoisseur. The _soupe Marie-Louise_ was a

splendid success; the tiny pies eaten with it melted in the mouth

and were irreproachable. The two footmen and Matvey, in white

cravats, did their duty with the dishes and wines unobtrusively,

quietly, and swiftly. On the material side the dinner was a

success; it was no less so on the immaterial. The conversation,

at times general and at times between individuals, never paused,

and towards the end the company was so lively that the men rose

from the table, without stopping speaking, and even Alexey

Alexandrovitch thawed.




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