The narrow room, in which they were smoking and taking refreshments,

was full of noblemen. The excitement grew more intense,

and every face betrayed some uneasiness. The excitement was

specially keen for the leaders of each party, who knew every

detail, and had reckoned up every vote. They were the generals

organizing the approaching battle. The rest, like the rank and

file before an engagement, though they were getting ready for the

fight, sought for other distractions in the interval. Some were

lunching, standing at the bar, or sitting at the table; others

were walking up and down the long room, smoking cigarettes, and

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talking with friends whom they had not seen for a long while.

Levin did not care to eat, and he was not smoking; he did not

want to join his own friends, that is Sergey Ivanovitch, Stepan

Arkadyevitch, Sviazhsky and the rest, because Vronsky in his

equerry's uniform was standing with them in eager conversation.

Levin had seen him already at the meeting on the previous day,

and he had studiously avoided him, not caring to greet him. He

went to the window and sat down, scanning the groups, and

listening to what was being said around him. He felt depressed,

especially because everyone else was, as he saw, eager, anxious,

and interested, and he alone, with an old, toothless little man

with mumbling lips wearing a naval uniform, sitting beside him,

had no interest in it and nothing to do.

"He's such a blackguard! I have told him so, but it makes no

difference. Only think of it! He couldn't collect it in three

years!" he heard vigorously uttered by a round-shouldered, short,

country gentleman, who had pomaded hair hanging on his

embroidered collar, and new boots obviously put on for the

occasion, with heels that tapped energetically as he spoke.

Casting a displeased glance at Levin, this gentleman sharply

turned his back.

"Yes, it's a dirty business, there's no denying," a small

gentleman assented in a high voice.

Next, a whole crowd of country gentlemen, surrounding a stout

general, hurriedly came near Levin. These persons were

unmistakably seeking a place where they could talk without being

overheard.

"How dare he say I had his breeches stolen! Pawned them for

drink, I expect. Damn the fellow, prince indeed! He'd better

not say it, the beast!"

"But excuse me! They take their stand on the act," was being

said in another group; "the wife must be registered as noble."

"Oh, damn your acts! I speak from my heart. We're all

gentlemen, aren't we? Above suspicion."




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