, and smiling with simple-hearted
good humor.

He was undoubtedly a good-natured fellow, and Levin felt sorry
for him and ashamed of himself, as his host, when he saw the shy
look on Vassenka's face.

On the table lay a piece of stick which they had broken together
that morning, trying their strength. Levin took the fragment in
his hands and began smashing it up, breaking bits off the stick,
not knowing how to begin.

"I wanted...." He paused, but suddenly, remembering Kitty and
everything that had happened, he said, looking him resolutely in
the face: "I have ordered the horses to be put-to for you."

"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 asham