To be the wife of a man like Koznishev, after her position with

Madame Stahl, was to her imagination the height of happiness.

Besides, she was almost certain that she was in love with him.

And this moment it would have to be decided. She felt

frightened. She dreaded both his speaking and his not speaking.

Now or never it must be said--that Sergey Ivanovitch felt too.

Everything in the expression, the flushed cheeks and the downcast

eyes of Varenka betrayed a painful suspense. Sergey Ivanovitch

saw it and felt sorry for her. He felt even that to say nothing

now would be a slight to her. Rapidly in his own mind he ran

over all the arguments in support of his decision. He even said

over to himself the words in which he meant to put his offer, but

instead of those words, some utterly unexpected reflection that

occurred to him made him ask: "What is the difference between the 'birch' mushroom and the

'white' mushroom?"

Varenka's lips quivered with emotion as she answered: "In the top part there is scarcely any difference, it's in the

stalk."

And as soon as these words were uttered, both he and she felt

that it was over, that what was to have been said would not be

said; and their emotion, which had up to then been continually

growing more intense, began to subside.

"The birch mushroom's stalk suggests a dark man's chin after two

days without shaving," said Sergey Ivanovitch, speaking quite

calmly now.

"Yes, that's true," answered Varenka smiling, and unconsciously

the direction of their walk changed. They began to turn towards

the children. Varenka felt both sore and ashamed; at the same

time she had a sense of relief.

When he had got home again and went over the whole subject,

Sergey Ivanovitch thought his previous decision had been a

mistaken one. He could not be false to the memory of Marie.

"Gently, children, gently!" Levin shouted quite angrily to the

children, standing before his wife to protect her when the crowd

of children flew with shrieks of delight to meet them.

Behind the children Sergey Ivanovitch and Varenka walked out of

the wood. Kitty had no need to ask Varenka; she saw from the

calm and somewhat crestfallen faces of both that her plans had

not come off.

"Well?" her husband questioned her as they were going home again.

"It doesn't bite," said Kitty, her smile and manner of speaking

recalling her father, a likeness Levin often noticed with

pleasure.

"How doesn't bite?"




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