The streets were still empty. Levin went to the house of the

Shtcherbatskys. The visitors' doors were closed and everything

was asleep. He walked back, went into his room again, and asked

for coffee. The day servant, not Yegor this time, brought it to

him. Levin would have entered into conversation with him, but a

bell rang for the servant, and he went out. Levin tried to drink

coffee and put some roll in his mouth, but his mouth was quite at

a loss what to do with the roll. Levin, rejecting the roll, put

on his coat and went out again for a walk. It was nine o'clock

when he reached the Shtcherbatskys' steps the second time. In

the house they were only just up, and the cook came out to go

marketing. He had to get through at least two hours more.

All that night and morning Levin lived perfectly unconsciously,

and felt perfectly lifted out of the conditions of material life.

He had eaten nothing for a whole day, he had not slept for two

nights, had spent several hours undressed in the frozen air, and

felt not simply fresher and stronger than ever, but felt utterly

independent of his body; he moved without muscular effort, and

felt as if he could do anything. He was convinced he could fly

upwards or lift the corner of the house, if need be. He spent

the remainder of the time in the street, incessantly looking at

his watch and gazing about him.

And what he saw then, he never saw again after. The children

especially going to school, the bluish doves flying down from

the roofs to the pavement, and the little loaves covered with

flour, thrust out by an unseen hand, touched him. Those loaves,

those doves, and those two boys were not earthly creatures. It

all happened at the same time: a boy ran towards a dove and

glanced smiling at Levin; the dove, with a whir of her wings,

darted away, flashing in the sun, amid grains of snow that

quivered in the air, while from a little window there came a

smell of fresh-baked bread, and the loaves were put out. All of

this together was so extraordinarily nice that Levin laughed and

cried with delight. Going a long way round by Gazetny Place and

Kislovka, he went back again to the hotel, and putting his watch

before him, he sat down to wait for twelve o'clock. In the next

room they were talking about some sort of machines, and

swindling, and coughing their morning coughs. They did not

realize that the hand was near twelve. The hand reached it.

Levin went out onto the steps. The sledge-drivers clearly knew

all about it. They crowded round Levin with happy faces,

quarreling among themselves, and offering their services. Trying

not to offend the other sledge drivers, and promising to drive

with them too, Levin took one and told him to drive to the

Shtcherbatskys'. The sledge-driver was splendid in a white

shirt-collar sticking out over his overcoat and into his strong,

full-blooded red neck. The sledge was high and comfortable, and

altogether such a one as Levin never drove in after, and the

horse was a good one, and tried to gallop but didn't seem to

move. The driver knew the Shtcherbatskys' house, and drew up at

the entrance with a curve of his arm and a "Wo!" especially

indicative of respect for his fare. The Shtcherbatskys'

hall-porter certainly knew all about it. This was evident from

the smile in his eyes and the way he said: "Well, it's a long while since you've been to see us, Konstantin

Demitrievitch!"




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