Everyone shouted _Jivio!_ and a fresh crowd dashed into the hall,

almost carrying the princess off her legs.

"Ah, princess! that was something like!" said Stepan

Arkadyevitch, suddenly appearing in the middle of the crowd and

beaming upon them with a delighted smile. "Capitally, warmly

said, wasn't it? Bravo! And Sergey Ivanovitch! Why, you ought

to have said something--just a few words, you know, to encourage

them; you do that so well," he added with a soft, respectful, and

discreet smile, moving Sergey Ivanovitch forward a little by the

arm.

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"No, I'm just off."

"Where to?"

"To the country, to my brother's," answered Sergey Ivanovitch.

"Then you'll see my wife. I've written to her, but you'll see

her first. Please tell her that they've seen me and that it's

'all right,' as the English say. She'll understand. Oh, and be

so good as to tell her I'm appointed secretary of the

committee.... But she'll understand! You know, _les petites

misères de la vie humaine,_" he said, as it were apologizing to

the princess. "And Princess Myakaya--not Liza, but Bibish--is

sending a thousand guns and twelve nurses. Did I tell you?"

"Yes, I heard so," answered Koznishev indifferently.

"It's a pity you're going away," said Stepan Arkadyevitch.

"Tomorrow we're giving a dinner to two who're setting off--

Dimer-Bartnyansky from Petersburg and our Veslovsky, Grisha.

They're both going. Veslovsky's only lately married. There's a

fine fellow for you! Eh, princess?" he turned to the lady.

The princess looked at Koznishev without replying. But the fact

that Sergey Ivanovitch and the princess seemed anxious to get rid

of him did not in the least disconcert Stepan Arkadyevitch.

Smiling, he stared at the feather in the princess's hat, and then

about him as though he were going to pick something up. Seeing a

lady approaching with a collecting box, he beckoned her up and

put in a five-rouble note.

"I can never see these collecting boxes unmoved while I've money

in my pocket," he said. "And how about today's telegram? Fine

chaps those Montenegrins!"

"You don't say so!" he cried, when the princess told him that

Vronsky was going by this train. For an instant Stepan

Arkadyevitch's face looked sad, but a minute later, when,

stroking his mustaches and swinging as he walked, he went into

the hall where Vronsky was, he had completely forgotten his own

despairing sobs over his sister's corpse, and he saw in Vronsky

only a hero and an old friend.




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