"How so?" Vassenka began in surprise. "To drive where?"
"For you to drive to the station," Levin said gloomily.
"Are you going away, or has something happened?"
"It happens that I expect visitors," said Levin, his strong
fingers more and more rapidly breaking off the ends of the split
stick. "And I'm not expecting visitors, and nothing has
happened, but I beg you to go away. You can explain my rudeness
as you like."
Vassenka drew himself up.
"I beg you to explain..." he said with dignity, understanding at
last.
"I can't explain," Levin said softly and deliberately, trying to
control the trembling of his jaw; "and you'd better not ask."
And as the split ends were all broken off, Levin clutched the
thick ends in his finger, broke the stick in two, and carefully
caught the end as it fell.
Probably the sight of those nervous fingers, of the muscles he
had proved that morning at gymnastics, of the glittering eyes,
the soft voice, and quivering jaws, convinced Vassenka better
than any words. He bowed, shrugging his shoulders, and smiling
contemptuously.
"Can I not see Oblonsky?"
The shrug and the smile did not irritate Levin.
"What else was there for him to do?" he thought.
"I'll send him to you at once."
"What madness is this?" Stepan Arkadyevitch said when, after
hearing from his friend that he was being turned out of the
house, he found Levin in the garden, where he was walking about
waiting for his guest's departure. "_Mais c'est ridicule!_ What
fly has stung you? _Mais c'est du dernier ridicule!_ What did you
think, if a young man..."
But the place where Levin had been stung was evidently still
sore, for he turned pale again, when Stepan Arkadyevitch would
have enlarged on the reason, and he himself cut him short.
"Please don't go into it! I can't help it. I feel ashamed of
how I'm treating you and him. But it won't be, I imagine, a
great grief to him to go, and his presence was distasteful to me
and to my wife."
"But it's insulting to him! _Et puis c'est ridicule_."
"And to me it's both insulting and distressing! And I'm not at
fault in any way, and there's no need for me to suffer."
"Well, this I didn't expect of you! _On peut être jaloux, mais
à ce point, c'est du dernier ridicule!_"
Levin turned quickly, and walked away from him into the depths of
the avenue, and he went on walking up and down alone. Soon he
heard the rumble of the trap, and saw from behind the trees how
Vassenka, sitting in the hay (unluckily there was no seat in the
trap) in his Scotch cap, was driven along the avenue, jolting up
and down over the ruts.