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and put his sunburnt, hairy neck under the tap, and was rubbing it and
his head with his hands. When he had finished, Vronsky sat down by
Serpuhovskoy. They both sat down in the bathroom on a lounge, and
a conversation began which was very interesting to both of them.
“I’ve always been hearing about you through my wife,” said
Serpuhovskoy. “I’m glad you’ve been seeing her pretty often.”
“She’s friendly with Varya, and they’re the only women in Peters-
burg I care about seeing,” answered Vronsky, smiling. He smiled be-
cause he foresaw the topic the conversation would turn on, and he was
glad of it.
“The only ones?” Serpuhovskoy queried, smiling.
“Yes; and I heard news of you, but not only through your wife,”
said Vronsky, checking his hint by a stern expression of face. “I was
greatly delighted to hear of your success, but not a bit surprised. I
expected even more.”
Serpuhovskoy smiled. Such an opinion of him was obviously agree-
able to him, and he did not think it necessary to conceal it.
“Well, I on the contrary expected less—I’ll own frankly. But I’m
glad, very glad. I’m ambitious; that’s my weakness, and I confess to it.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t confess to it if you hadn’t been successful,”
said Vronsky.
“I don’t suppose so,” said Serpuhovskoy, smiling again. “I won’t say
life wouldn’t be worth living without it, but it would be dull. Of course
I may be mistaken, but I fancy I have a certain capacity for the line I’ve
chosen, and that power of any sort in my hands, if it is to be, will be
better than in the hands of a good many people I know,” said
Serpuhovskoy, with beaming consciousness of success; “and so the
nearer I get to it, the better pleased I am.”
“Perhaps that is true for you, but not for everyone. I used to think
so too, but here I live and think life worth living not only for that.”
“There it’s out! here it comes!” said Serpuhovskoy, laughing. “Ever
since I heard about you, about your refusal, I began.... Of course, I
approved of what you did. But there are ways of doing everything.
And I think your action was good in itself, but you didn’t do it quite in
the way you ought to have done.”
“What’s done can’t be undone, and you know I never go back on
what I’ve done. And besides, I’m very well off.”
“Very well off—for the time. But you’re not satisfied with that. I
wouldn’t say this to your brother. He’s a nice child, like our host here.
There he goes!” he added, listening to the roar of “hurrah!”—”and he’s
happy, but that does not satisfy you.”
“I didn’t say it did satisfy me.”
“Yes, but that’s not the only thing. Such men as you are wanted.”
“By whom?”
“By whom? By society, by Russia. Russia needs men; she needs a
party, or else everything goes and will go to the dogs.”
“How do you mean? Bertenev’s party against the Russian com-
munists?”
“No,” said Serpuhovskoy, frowning with vexation at being sus-
pected of such an absurdity. “Tout ca est une blague. That’s always
been and always will be. There are no communists. But intriguing
people have to invent a noxious, dangerous party. It’s an old trick. No,
what’s wanted is a powerful party of independent men like you and
me.”
“But why so?” Vronsky mentioned a few men who were in power.
“Why aren’t they independent men?”
“Simply because they have not, or have not had from birth, an
independent fortune; they’ve not had a name, they’ve not been close