Next day, before the ladies were up, the wagonette and a trap for

the shooting party were at the door, and Laska, aware since early

morning that they were going shooting, after much whining and

darting to and fro, had sat herself down in the wagonette beside

the coachman, and, disapproving of the delay, was excitedly

watching the door from which the sportsmen still did not come

out. The first to come out was Vassenka Veslovsky, in new high

boots that reached half-way up his thick thighs, in a green

blouse, with a new Russian leather cartridge-belt, and in his

Scotch cap with ribbons, with a brand-new English gun without a

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sling. Laska flew up to him, welcomed him, and jumping up, asked

him in her own way whether the others were coming soon, but

getting no answer from him, she returned to her post of

observation and sank into repose again, her head on one side, and

one ear pricked up to listen. At last the door opened with a

creak, and Stepan Arkadyevitch's spot-and-tan pointer Krak flew

out, running round and round and turning over in the air. Stepan

Arkadyevitch himself followed with a gun in his hand and a cigar

in his mouth.

"Good dog, good dog, Krak!" he cried encouragingly to the dog,

who put his paws up on his chest, catching at his game bag.

Stepan Arkadyevitch was dressed in rough leggings and spats, in

torn trousers and a short coat. On his head there was a wreck of

a hat of indefinite form, but his gun of a new patent was a

perfect gem, and his game bag and cartridge belt, though worn,

were of the very best quality.

Vassenka Veslovsky had had no notion before that it was truly

_chic_ for a sportsman to be in tatters, but to have his shooting

outfit of the best quality. He saw it now as he looked at Stepan

Arkadyevitch, radiant in his rags, graceful, well-fed, and

joyous, a typical Russian nobleman. And he made up his mind that

next time he went shooting he would certainly adopt the same

get-up.

"Well, and what about our host?" he asked.

"A young wife," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling.

"Yes, and such a charming one!"

"He came down dressed. No doubt he's run up to her again."

Stepan Arkadyevitch guessed right. Levin had run up again to his

wife to ask her once more if she forgave him for his idiocy

yesterday, and, moreover, to beg her for Christ's sake to be more

careful. The great thing was for her to keep away from the

children--they might any minute push against her. Then he had

once more to hear her declare that she was not angry with him for

going away for two days, and to beg her to be sure to send him a

note next morning by a servant on horseback, to write him, if it

were but two words only, to let him know that all was well with

her.




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