"Perhaps it was for the best. You will have to forgive me so
much. I ought to tell you..."
This was one of the things he had meant to speak about. He had
resolved from the first to tell her two things--that he was not
chaste as she was, and that he was not a believer. It was
agonizing, but he considered he ought to tell her both these
facts.
"No, not now, later!" he said.
"Very well, later, but you must certainly tell me. I'm not
afraid of anything. I want to know everything. Now it is
settled."
He added: "Settled that you'll take me whatever I may be--you
won't give me up? Yes?"
"Yes, yes."
Their conversation was interrupted by Mademoiselle Linon, who
with an affected but tender smile came to congratulate her
favorite pupil. Before she had gone, the servants came in with
their congratulations. Then relations arrived, and there began
that state of blissful absurdity from which Levin did not emerge
till the day after his wedding. Levin was in a continual state
of awkwardness and discomfort, but the intensity of his happiness
went on all the while increasing. He felt continually that a
great deal was being expected of him--what, he did not know; and
he did everything he was told, and it all gave him happiness. He
had thought his engagement would have nothing about it like
others, that the ordinary conditions of engaged couples would
spoil his special happiness; but it ended in his doing exactly as
other people did, and his happiness being only increased thereby
and becoming more and more special, more and more unlike anything
that had ever happened.
"Now we shall have sweetmeats to eat," said Mademoiselle Linon--
and Levin drove off to buy sweetmeats.
"Well, I'm very glad," said Sviazhsky. "I advise you to get the
bouquets from Fomin's."
"Oh, are they wanted?" And he drove to Fomin's.
His brother offered to lend him money, as he would have so many
expenses, presents to give....
"Oh, are presents wanted?" And he galloped to Foulde's.
And at the confectioner's, and at Fomin's, and at Foulde's he saw
that he was expected; that they were pleased to see him, and
prided themselves on his happiness, just as every one whom he had
to do with during those days. What was extraordinary was that
everyone not only liked him, but even people previously
unsympathetic, cold, and callous, were enthusiastic over him,
gave way to him in everything, treated his feeling with
tenderness and delicacy, and shared his conviction that he was
the happiest man in the world because his betrothed was beyond
perfection. Kitty too felt the same thing. When Countess
Nordston ventured to hint that she had hoped for something
better, Kitty was so angry and proved so conclusively that
nothing in the world could be better than Levin, that Countess
Nordston had to admit it, and in Kitty's presence never met Levin
without a smile of ecstatic admiration.