Anna Karenina. Leo Tolstoy

yes, Parmesan. Or would you like another?"

      "No, it's all the same to me," said Levin, unable to suppress a smile.

      And the Tatar ran off with flying coattails, and in five minutes darted in with a dish of opened oysters on mother-of-pearl shells, and a bottle between his fingers.

      Stepan Arkadyevitch crushed the starchy napkin, tucked it into his waistcoat, and settling his arms comfortably, started on the oysters.

      "Not bad," he said, stripping the oysters from the pearly shell with a silver fork, and swallowing them one after another. "Not bad," he repeated, turning his dewy, brilliant eyes from Levin to the Tatar.

      Levin ate the oysters indeed, though white bread and cheese would have pleased him better. But he was admiring Oblonsky. Even the Tatar, uncorking the bottle and pouring the sparkling wine into the delicate glasses, glanced at Stepan Arkadyevitch, and settled his white cravat with a perceptible smile of satisfaction.

      "You don't care much for oysters, do you?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, emptying his wine glass, "or you're worried about something. Eh?"

      He wanted Levin to be in good spirits. But it was not that Levin was not in good spirits; he was ill at ease. With what he had in his soul, he felt sore and uncomfortable in the restaurant, in the midst of private rooms where men were dining with ladies, in all this fuss and bustle; the surroundings of bronzes, looking glasses, gas, and waiters—all of it was offensive to him. He was afraid of sullying what his soul was brimful of.

      "I? Yes, I am; but besides, all this bothers me," he said. "You can't conceive how queer it all seems to a country person like me, as queer as that gentleman's nails I saw at your place… "

      "Yes, I saw how much interested you were in poor Grinevitch's nails," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, laughing.

      "It's too much for me," responded Levin. "Do try, now, and put yourself in my place, take the point of view of a country person. We in the country try to bring our hands into such a state as will be most convenient for working with. So we cut our nails; sometimes we turn up our sleeves. And here people purposely let their nails grow as long as they will, and link on small saucers by way of studs, so that they can do nothing with their hands."

      Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled gaily.

      "Oh, yes, that's just a sign that he has no need to do coarse work. His work is with the mind… "

      "Maybe. But still it's queer to me, just as at this moment it seems queer to me that we country folks try to get our meals over as soon as we can, so as to be ready for our work, while here are we trying to drag out our meal as long as possible, and with that object eating oysters… "

      "Why, of course," objected Stepan Arkadyevitch. "But that's just the aim of civilization—to make everything a source of enjoyment."

      "Well, if that's its aim, I'd rather be a savage."

      "And so you are a savage. All you Levins are savages."

      Levin sighed. He remembered his brother Nikolay, and felt ashamed and sore, and he scowled; but Oblonsky began speaking of a subject which at once drew his attention.

      "Oh, I say, are you going tonight to our people, the Shtcherbatskys', I mean?" he said, his eyes sparkling significantly as he pushed away the empty rough shells, and drew the cheese towards him.

      "Yes, I shall certainly go," replied Levin; "though I fancied the princess was not very warm in her invitation."

      "What nonsense! That's her manner… . Come, boy, the soup!… . That's her manner—grande dame," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "I'm coming, too, but I have to go to the Countess Bonina's rehearsal. Come, isn't it true that you're a savage? How do you explain the sudden way in which you vanished from Moscow? The Shtcherbatskys were continually asking me about you, as though I ought to know. The only thing I know is that you always do what no one else does."

      "Yes," said Levin, slowly and with emotion, "you're right. I am a savage. Only, my savageness is not in having gone away, but in coming now. Now I have come… "

      "Oh, what a lucky fellow you are!" broke in Stepan Arkadyevitch, looking into Levin's eyes.

      "Why?"

      "I know a gallant steed by tokens sure, And by his eyes I know a youth in love," declaimed Stepan Arkadyevitch. "Everything is before you."

      "Why, is it over for you already?"

      "No; not over exactly, but the future is yours, and the present is mine, and the present—well, it's not all that it might be."

      "How so?"

      "Oh, things go wrong. But I don't want to talk of myself, and besides I can't explain it all," said Stepan Arkadyevitch. "Well, why have you come to Moscow, then?… . Hi! take away!" he called to the Tatar.

      "You guess?" responded Levin, his eyes like deep wells of light fixed on Stepan Arkadyevitch.

      "I guess, but I can't be the first to talk about it. You can see by that whether I guess right or wrong," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, gazing at Levin with a subtle smile.

      "Well, and what have you to say to me?" said Levin in a quivering voice, feeling that all the muscles of his face were quivering too. "How do you look at the question?"

      Stepan Arkadyevitch slowly emptied his glass of Chablis, never taking his eyes off Levin.

      "I?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, "there's nothing I desire so much as that—nothing! It would be the best thing that could be."

      "But you're not making a mistake? You know what we're speaking of?" said Levin, piercing him with his eyes. "You think it's possible?"

      "I think it's possible. Why not possible?"

      "No! do you really think it's possible? No, tell me all you think! Oh, but if… if refusal's in store for me!… Indeed I feel sure… "

      "Why should you think that?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling at his excitement.

      "It seems so to me sometimes. That will be awful for me, and for her too."

      "Oh, well, anyway there's nothing awful in it for a girl. Every girl's proud of an offer."

      "Yes, every girl, but not she."

      Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled. He so well knew that feeling of Levin's, that for him all the girls in the world were divided into two classes: one class—all the girls in the world except her, and those girls with all sorts of human weaknesses, and very ordinary girls: the other class—she alone, having no weaknesses of any sort and higher than all humanity.

      "Stay, take some sauce," he said, holding back Levin's hand as it pushed away the sauce.

      Levin obediently helped himself to sauce, but would not let Stepan Arkadyevitch go on with his dinner.

      "No, stop a minute, stop a minute," he said. "You must understand that it's a question of life and death for me. I have never spoken to any one of this. And there's no one I could speak of it to, except you. You know we're utterly unlike each other, different tastes and views and everything; but I know you're fond of me and understand me, and that's why I like you awfully. But for God's sake, be quite straightforward with me."

      "I tell you what I think," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling. "But I'll say more: my wife is a wonderful woman… " Stepan Arkadyevitch sighed, remembering his position with his wife, and, after a moment's silence, resumed—"She has a gift of foreseeing things. She sees right through people; but that's not all; she knows what will come to pass, especially in the way of marriages. She foretold, for instance, that Princess Shahovskaya would marry Brenteln. No one would believe it, but it came to pass. And she's on your side."

      "How do you mean?"

      "It's not only that she likes you—she says that Kitty is certain to be your wife."

      At these words Levin's face suddenly lighted up with a smile, a smile not far from tears of emotion.

      "She says that!" cried Levin. "I always