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Chapter 21.
After a capital dinner and a great deal of cognac drunk at
Bartnyansky’s, Stepan Arkadyevitch, only a little later than the ap-
pointed time, went in to Countess Lidia Ivanovna’s.
“Who else is with the countess?—a Frenchman?” Stepan
Arkadyevitch asked the hall porter, as he glanced at the familiar over-
coat of Alexey Alexandrovitch and a queer, rather artless-looking over-
coat with clasps.
“Alexey Alexandrovitch Karenin and Count Bezzubov,” the por-
ter answered severely.
“Princess Myakaya guessed right,” thought Stepan Arkadyevitch,
as he went upstairs. “Curious! It would be quite as well, though, to get
on friendly terms with her. She has immense influence. If she would
say a word to Pomorsky, the thing would be a certainty.”
It was still quite light out-of-doors, but in Countess Lidia Ivanovna’s
little drawing room the blinds were drawn and the lamps lighted. At a
round table under a lamp sat the countess and Alexey Alexandrovitch,
talking softly. A short, thinnish man, very pale and handsome, with
feminine hips and knock-kneed legs, with fine brilliant eyes and long
hair lying on the collar of his coat, was standing at the end of the room
gazing at the portraits on the wall. After greeting the lady of the house
and Alexey Alexandrovitch, Stepan Arkadyevitch could not resist
glancing once more at the unknown man.
“Monsieur Landau!” the countess addressed him with a softness
and caution that impressed Oblonsky. And she introduced them.
Landau looked round hurriedly, came up, and smiling, laid his moist,
lifeless hand in Stepan Arkadyevitch’s outstretched hand and imme-
diately walked away and fell to gazing at the portraits again. The
countess and Alexey Alexandrovitch looked at each other significantly.
“I am very glad to see you, particularly today,” said Countess Lidia
Ivanovna, pointing Stepan Arkadyevitch to a seat beside Karenin.
“I introduced you to him as Landau,” she said in a soft voice,
glancing at the Frenchman and again immediately after at Alexey
Alexandrovitch, “but he is really Count Bezzubov, as you’re probably
aware. Only he does not like the title.”
“Yes, I heard so,” answered Stepan Arkadyevitch; “they say he
completely cured Countess Bezzubova.”
“She was here today, poor thing!” the countess said, turning to
Alexey Alexandrovitch. “This separation is awful for her. It’s such a
blow to her!”
“And he positively is going?” queried Alexey Alexandrovitch.
“Yes, he’s going to Paris. He heard a voice yesterday,” said Count-
ess Lidia Ivanovna, looking at Stepan Arkadyevitch.
“Ah, a voice!” repeated Oblonsky, feeling that he must be as cir-
cumspect as he possibly could in this society, where something peculiar
was going on, or was to go on, to which he had not the key.
A moment’s silence followed, after which Countess Lidia Ivanovna,
as though approaching the main topic of conversation, said with a fine
smile to Oblonsky:
“I’ve known you for a long while, and am very glad to make a closer
acquaintance with you. Les amis de nos amis sont nos amis. But to be