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ears, and was brushed back covering the bald patch on his head. And
glancing casually at the gentleman, who still stood there gazing in-
tently at him, he would have gone on.
“This gentleman is a Russian, and was inquiring after you,” said
the head waiter.
With mingled feelings of annoyance at never being able to get
away from acquaintances anywhere, and longing to find some sort of
diversion from the monotony of his life, Vronsky looked once more at
the gentleman, who had retreated and stood still again, and at the
same moment a light came into the eyes of both.
“Golenishtchev!”
“Vronsky!”
It really was Golenishtchev, a comrade of Vronsky’s in the Corps of
Pages. In the corps Golenishtchev had belonged to the liberal party;
he left the corps without entering the army, and had never taken office
under the government. Vronsky and he had gone completely different
ways on leaving the corps, and had only met once since.
At that meeting Vronsky perceived that Golenishtchev had taken
up a sort of lofty, intellectually liberal line, and was consequently dis-
posed to look down upon Vronsky’s interests and calling in life. Hence
Vronsky had met him with the chilling and haughty manner he so well
knew how to assume, the meaning of which was: “You may like or
dislike my way of life, that’s a matter of the most perfect indifference to
me; you will have to treat me with respect if you want to know me.”
Golenishtchev had been contemptuously indifferent to the tone taken
by Vronsky. This second meeting might have been expected, one would
have supposed, to estrange them still more. But now they beamed and
exclaimed with delight on recognizing one another. Vronsky would
never have expected to be so pleased to see Golenishtchev, but prob-
ably he was not himself aware how bored he was. He forgot the
disagreeable impression of their last meeting, and with a face of frank
delight held out his hand to his old comrade. The same expression of
delight replaced the look of uneasiness on Golenishtchev’s face.
“How glad I am to meet you!” said Vronsky, showing his strong
white teeth in a friendly smile.
“I heard the name Vronsky, but I didn’t know which one. I’m very,
very glad!”
“Let’s go in. Come, tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’ve been living here for two years. I’m working.”
“Ah!” said Vronsky, with sympathy; “let’s go in.” And with the
habit common with Russians, instead of saying in Russian what he
wanted to keep from the servants, he began to speak in French.
“Do you know Madame Karenina? We are traveling together. I
am going to see her now,” he said in French, carefully scrutinizing
Golenishtchev’s face.
“Ah! I did not know” (though he did know), Golenishtchev an-
swered carelessly. “Have you been here long?” he added.
“Four days,” Vronsky answered, once more scrutinizing his friend’s
face intently.
“Yes, he’s a decent fellow, and will look at the thing properly,” Vronsky
said to himself, catching the significance of Golenishtchev’s face and
the change of subject. “I can introduce him to Anna, he looks at it
properly.”
During those three months that Vronsky had spent abroad with
Anna, he had always on meeting new people asked himself how the
new person would look at his relations with Anna, and for the most
part, in men, he had met with the “proper” way of looking at it. But if he
had been asked, and those who looked at it “properly” had been asked,