Not only he knew all about it, but he was unmistakably delighted
and making efforts to conceal his joy. Looking into his kindly
old eyes, Levin realized even something new in his happiness.
"Are they up?"
"Pray walk in! Leave it here," said he, smiling, as Levin would
have come back to take his hat. That meant something.
"To whom shall I announce your honor?" asked the footman.
The footman, though a young man, and one of the new school of
footmen, a dandy, was a very kind-hearted, good fellow, and he
too knew all about it.
"The princess...the prince...the young princess..." said Levin.
The first person he saw was Mademoiselle Linon. She walked
across the room, and her ringlets and her face were beaming. He
had only just spoken to her, when suddenly he heard the rustle of
a skirt at the door, and Mademoiselle Linon vanished from Levin's
eyes, and a joyful terror came over him at the nearness of his
happiness. Mademoiselle Linon was in great haste, and leaving
him, went out at the other door. Directly she had gone out,
swift, swift light steps sounded on the parquet, and his bliss,
his life, himself--what was best in himself, what he had so long
sought and longed for--was quickly, so quickly approaching him.
She did not walk, but seemed, by some unseen force, to float to
him. He saw nothing but her clear, truthful eyes, frightened by
the same bliss of love that flooded his heart. Those eyes were
shining nearer and nearer, blinding him with their light of love.
She stopped still close to him, touching him. Her hands rose and
dropped onto his shoulders.
She had done all she could--she had run up to him and given
herself up entirely, shy and happy. He put his arms round her
and pressed his lips to her mouth that sought his kiss.
She too had not slept all night, and had been expecting him all
the morning.
Her mother and father had consented without demur, and were happy
in her happiness. She had been waiting for him. She wanted to
be the first to tell him her happiness and his. She had got
ready to see him alone, and had been delighted at the idea, and
had been shy and ashamed, and did not know herself what she was
doing. She had heard his steps and voice, and had waited at the
door for Mademoiselle Linon to go. Mademoiselle Linon had gone
away. Without thinking, without asking herself how and what, she
had gone up to him, and did as she was doing.