Anna Karenina - Part 3

His brother dressed with particular care--a thing he never used

to do--combed his scanty, lank hair, and, smiling, went

upstairs.

He was in the most affectionate and good-humored mood, just as

Levin often remembered him in childhood. He even referred to

Sergey Ivanovitch without rancor. When he saw Agafea Mihalovna,

he made jokes with her and asked after the old servants. The

news of the death of Parfen Denisitch made a painful impression

on him. A look of fear crossed his face, but he regained his

serenity immediately.

"Of course he was quite old," he said, and changed the subject.

"Well, I'll spend a month or two with you, and then I'm off to

Moscow. Do you know, Myakov has promised me a place there, and

I'm going into the service. Now I'm going to arrange my life

quite differently," he went on. "You know I got rid of that

woman."

"Marya Nikolaevna? Why, what for?"

"Oh, she was a horrid woman! She caused me all sorts of

worries." But he did not say what the annoyances were. He could

not say that he had cast off Marya Nikolaevna because the tea was

weak, and, above all, because she would look after him, as though

he were an invalid.

"Besides, I want to turn over a new leaf completely now. I've

done silly things, of course, like everyone else, but money's

the last consideration; I don't regret it. So long as there's

health, and my health, thank God, is quite restored."

Levin listened and racked his brains, but could think of nothing

to say. Nikolay probably felt the same; he began questioning his

brother about his affairs; and Levin was glad to talk about

himself, because then he could speak without hypocrisy. He told

his brother of his plans and his doings.

His brother listened, but evidently he was not interested by it.

These two men were so akin, so near each other, that the

slightest gesture, the tone of voice, told both more than could

be said in words.

Both of them now had only one thought--the illness of Nikolay

and the nearness of his death--which stifled all else. But

neither of them dared to speak of it, and so whatever they said--

not uttering the one thought that filled their minds--was all

falsehood. Never had Levin been so glad when the evening was

over and it was time to go to bed. Never with any outside

person, never on any official visit had he been so unnatural and

false as he was that evening. And the consciousness of this

unnaturalness, and the remorse he felt at it, made him even

more unnatural. He wanted to weep over his dying, dearly loved

brother, and he had to listen and keep on talking of how he meant

to live.