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a true friend, one must enter into the spiritual state of one’s friend, and
I fear that you are not doing so in the case of Alexey Alexandrovitch.
You understand what I mean?” she said, lifting her fine pensive eyes.
“In part, countess, I understand the position of Alexey
Alexandrovitch...” said Oblonsky. Having no clear idea what they
were talking about, he wanted to confine himself to generalities.
“The change is not in his external position,” Countess Lidia
Ivanovna said sternly, following with eyes of love the figure of Alexey
Alexandrovitch as he got up and crossed over to Landau; “his heart is
changed, a new heart has been vouchsafed him, and I fear you don’t
fully apprehend the change that has taken place in him.”
“Oh, well, in general outlines I can conceive the change. We have
always been friendly, and now...” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, respond-
ing with a sympathetic glance to the expression of the countess, and
mentally balancing the question with which of the two ministers she
was most intimate, so as to know about which to ask her to speak for
him.
“The change that has taken place in him cannot lessen his love for
his neighbors; on the contrary, that change can only intensify love in his
heart. But I am afraid you do not understand me. Won’t you have
some tea?” she said, with her eyes indicating the footman, who was
handing round tea on a tray.
“Not quite, countess. Of course, his misfortune...”
“Yes, a misfortune which has proved the highest happiness, when
his heart was made new, was filled full of it,” she said, gazing with eyes
full of love at Stepan Arkadyevitch.
“I do believe I might ask her to speak to both of them,” thought
Stepan Arkadyevitch.
“Oh, of course, countess,” he said; “but I imagine such changes are
a matter so private that no one, even the most intimate friend, would
care to speak of them.”
“On the contrary! We ought to speak freely and help one another.”
“Yes, undoubtedly so, but there is such a difference of convictions,
and besides...” said Oblonsky with a soft smile.
“There can be no difference where it is a question of holy truth.”
“Oh, no, of course; but...” and Stepan Arkadyevitch paused in
confusion. He understood at last that they were talking of religion.
“I fancy he will fall asleep immediately,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch
in a whisper full of meaning, going up to Lidia Ivanovna.
Stepan Arkadyevitch looked round. Landau was sitting at the
window, leaning on his elbow and the back of his chair, his head droop-
ing. Noticing that all eyes were turned on him he raised his head and
smiled a smile of childlike artlessness.
“Don’t take any notice,” said Lidia Ivanovna, and she lightly moved
a chair up for Alexey Alexandrovitch. “I have observed...” she was
beginning, when a footman came into the room with a letter. Lidia
Ivanovna rapidly ran her eyes over the note, and excusing herself,
wrote an answer with extraordinary rapidity, handed it to the man, and
came back to the table. “I have observed,” she went on, “that Moscow
people, especially the men, are more indifferent to religion than any-
one.”
“Oh, no, countess, I thought Moscow people had the reputation of
being the firmest in the faith,” answered Stepan Arkadyevitch.
“But as far as I can make out, you are unfortunately one of the
indifferent ones,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch, turning to him with a
weary smile.
“How anyone can be indifferent!” said Lidia Ivanovna.
“I am not so much indifferent on that subject as I am waiting in