The men stood round the strong-smelling spirits and salt
delicacies, and the discussion of the Russification of Poland
between Koznishev, Karenin, and Pestsov died down in anticipation
of dinner.
Sergey Ivanovitch was unequaled in his skill in winding up the
most heated and serious argument by some unexpected pinch of
Attic salt that changed the disposition of his opponent. He did
this now.
Alexey Alexandrovitch had been maintaining that the Russification
of Poland could only be accomplished as a result of larger
measures which ought to be introduced by the Russian government.
Pestsov insisted that one country can only absorb another when it
is the more densely populated.
Koznishev admitted both points, but with limitations. As they
were going out of the drawing room to conclude the argument,
Koznishev said, smiling: "So, then, for the Russification of our foreign populations there
is but one method--to bring up as many children as one can. My
brother and I are terribly in fault, I see. You married men,
especially you, Stepan Arkadyevitch, are the real patriots: what
number have you reached?" he said, smiling genially at their host
and holding out a tiny wine glass to him.
Everyone laughed, and Stepan Arkadyevitch with particular good
humor.
"Oh, yes, that's the best method!" he said, munching cheese and
filling the wine-glass with a special sort of spirit. The
conversation dropped at the jest.
"This cheese is not bad. Shall I give you some?" said the master
of the house. "Why, have you been going in for gymnastics
again?" he asked Levin, pinching his muscle with his left hand.
Levin smiled, bent his arm, and under Stepan Arkadyevitch's
fingers the muscles swelled up like a sound cheese, hard as a
knob of iron, through the fine cloth of the coat.
"What biceps! A perfect Samson!"
"I imagine great strength is needed for hunting bears," observed
Alexey Alexandrovitch, who had the mistiest notions about the
chase. He cut off and spread with cheese a wafer of bread fine
as a spider-web.
Levin smiled.
"Not at all. Quite the contrary; a child can kill a bear," he
said, with a slight bow moving aside for the ladies, who were
approaching the table.
"You have killed a bear, I've been told!" said Kitty, trying
assiduously to catch with her fork a perverse mushroom that would
slip away, and setting the lace quivering over her white arm.
"Are there bears on your place?" she added, turning her charming
little head to him and smiling.
There was apparently nothing extraordinary in what she said, but
what unutterable meaning there was for him in every sound, in
every turn of her lips, her eyes, her hand as she said it! There
was entreaty for forgiveness, and trust in him, and tenderness--
soft, timid tenderness--and promise and hope and love for him,
which he could not but believe in and which choked him with
happiness.