heir 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?"

"I'll show you," she said, taking her husband's hand, lifting it
to her mouth, and just faintly brushing it with closed lips.
"Like a kiss on a priest's hand."

"Which didn't it bite with?" he said, laughing.

"Both. But it should have been like this..."

"There are some peasants coming..."

"Oh, they didn't see."

Chapter 6

During the time of the children's tea the grown-up people sat in
the balcony and talked as though nothing had happened, though
they all, especially Sergey Ivanovitch and Varenka, were very
well aware that there had happened an event which, though
negative, was of very great importance. They both had the same
feeling, rather like that of a schoolboy after an examination,
which has left him in the same class or shut him out of the
school forever. Everyone present, feeling too that something
had happened, talked eagerly about extraneous subjects. Levin
and Kitty were particularly happy and conscious of their love
that evening. And their happiness in their love seemed to imply
a disagreeable slur on those who would have liked to feel the
same and could not--and they felt a prick of conscience.

"Mark my words, Alexander will not come," said the old princess.

That evening they were expecting Stepan Arkadyevitch to come down
by train, and the old prince had written that possibly he might
come too.

"And I know why," the princess went on; "he says that young
people ought to be left alone for a while at first."

"But papa has left us alone. We've never see