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kling with enjoyment, was an officer from Petersburg, Gagin. Turovtsin
introduced them.
“Oblonsky’s always late.”
“Ah, here he is!”
“Have you only just come?” said Oblonsky, coming quickly towards
them. “Good day. Had some vodka? Well, come along then.”
Levin got up and went with him to the big table spread with spirits
and appetizers of the most various kinds. One would have thought
that out of two dozen delicacies one might find something to one’s
taste, but Stepan Arkadyevitch asked for something special, and one of
the liveried waiters standing by immediately brought what was re-
quired. They drank a wine glassful and returned to their table.
At once, while they were still at the soup, Gagin was served with
champagne, and told the waiter to fill four glasses. Levin did not
refuse the wine, and asked for a second bottle. He was very hungry,
and ate and drank with great enjoyment, and with still greater enjoy-
ment took part in the lively and simple conversation of his companions.
Gagin, dropping his voice, told the last good story from Petersburg, and
the story, though improper and stupid, was so ludicrous that Levin
broke into roars of laughter so loud that those near looked round.
“That’s in the same style as, ‘that’s a thing I can’t endure!’ You
know the story?” said Stepan Arkadyevitch. “Ah, that’s exquisite!
Another bottle,” he said to the waiter, and he began to relate his good
story.
“Pyotr Illyitch Vinovsky invites you to drink with him,” a little old
waiter interrupted Stepan Arkadyevitch, bringing two delicate glasses
of sparkling champagne, and addressing Stepan Arkadyevitch and
Levin. Stepan Arkadyevitch took the glass, and looking towards a bald
man with red mustaches at the other end of the table, he nodded to
him, smiling.
“Who’s that?” asked Levin.
“You met him once at my place, don’t you remember? A good-
natured fellow.”
Levin did the same as Stepan Arkadyevitch and took the glass.
Stepan Arkadyevitch’s anecdote too was very amusing. Levin told
his story, and that too was successful. Then they talked of horses, of the
races, of what they had been doing that day, and of how smartly
Vronsky’s Atlas had won the first prize. Levin did not notice how the
time passed at dinner.
“Ah! and here they are!” Stepan Arkadyevitch said towards the
end of dinner, leaning over the back of his chair and holding out his
hand to Vronsky, who came up with a tall officer of the Guards. Vronsky’s
face too beamed with the look of good-humored enjoyment that was
general in the club. He propped his elbow playfully on Stepan
Arkadyevitch’s shoulder, whispering something to him, and he held out
his hand to Levin with the same good-humored smile.
“Very glad to meet you,” he said. “I looked out for you at the
election, but I was told you had gone away.”
“Yes, I left the same day. We’ve just been talking of your horse. I
congratulate you,” said Levin. “It was very rapidly run.”
“Yes; you’ve race horses too, haven’t you?”
“No, my father had; but I remember and know something about
it.”
“Where have you dined?” asked Stepan Arkadyevitch.
“We were at the second table, behind the columns.”
“We’ve been celebrating his success,” said the tall colonel. “It’s his
second Imperial prize. I wish I might have the luck at cards he has
with horses. Well, why waste the precious time? I’m going to the