"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
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.