"And one vote may decide the whole question, and one must be

serious and consecutive, if one wants to be of use in public

life," concluded Sergey Ivanovitch. But Levin forgot all that,

and it was painful to him to see all these excellent persons, for

whom he had a respect, in such an unpleasant and vicious state of

excitement. To escape from this painful feeling he went away

into the other room where there was nobody except the waiters at

the refreshment bar. Seeing the waiters busy over washing up the

crockery and setting in order their plates and wine glasses,

seeing their calm and cheerful faces, Levin felt an unexpected

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sense of relief as though he had come out of a stuffy room into

the fresh air. He began walking up and down, looking with

pleasure at the waiters. He particularly liked the way one

gray-whiskered waiter, who showed his scorn for the other younger

ones and was jeered at by them, was teaching them how to fold up

napkins properly. Levin was just about to enter into

conversation with the old waiter, when the secretary of the court

of wardship, a little old man whose specialty it was to know all

the noblemen of the province by name and patronymic, drew him

away.

"Please come, Konstantin Dmitrievitch," he said, "your brother's

looking for you. They are voting on the legal point."

Levin walked into the room, received a white ball, and followed

his brother, Sergey Ivanovitch, to the table where Sviazhsky was

standing with a significant and ironical face, holding his beard

in his fist and sniffing at it. Sergey Ivanovitch put his hand

into the box, put the ball somewhere, and making room for Levin,

stopped. Levin advanced, but utterly forgetting what he was to

do, and much embarrassed, he turned to Sergey Ivanovitch with the

question, "Where am I to put it?" He asked this softly, at a

moment when there was talking going on near, so that he had hoped

his question would not be overheard. But the persons speaking

paused, and his improper question was overheard. Sergey

Ivanovitch frowned.

"That is a matter for each man's own decision," he said severely.

Several people smiled. Levin crimsoned, hurriedly thrust his

hand under the cloth, and put the ball to the right as it was in

his right hand. Having put it in, he recollected that he ought

to have thrust his left hand too, and so he thrust it in though

too late, and, still more overcome with confusion, he beat a

hasty retreat into the background.




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