candidates.

"I certainly shall not, under any circumstances," answered the
malignant gentleman.

This was Nevyedovsky himself. Sviazhsky introduced him to Levin.

"Well, you find it exciting too?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch,
winking at Vronsky. "It's something like a race. One might bet
on it."

"Yes, it is keenly exciting," said Vronsky. "And once taking the
thing up, one's eager to see it through. It's a fight!" he said,
scowling and setting his powerful jaws.

"What a capable fellow Sviazhsky is! Sees it all so clearly."

"Oh, yes!" Vronsky assented indifferently.

A silence followed, during which Vronsky--since he had to look at
something--looked at Levin, at his feet, at his uniform, then at
his face, and noticing his gloomy eyes fixed upon him, he said,
in order to say something:

"How is it that you, living constantly in the country, are not a
justice of the peace? You are not in the uniform of one."

"It's because I consider that the justice of the peace is a silly
institution," Levin answered gloomily. He had been all the time
looking for an opportunity to enter into conversation with
Vronsky, so as to smooth over his rudeness at their first
meeting.

"I don't think so, quite the contrary," Vronsky said, with quiet
surprise.

"It's a plaything," Levin cut him short. "We don't want justices
of the peace. I've never had a single thing to do with them
during eight years. And what I have had was decided wrongly by
them. The justice of the peace is over thirty miles from me.
For some matter of two roubles I should have to send a lawyer,
who costs me fifteen."

And he related how a peasant had stolen some flour from the
miller, and when the miller told him of it, had lodged a
complaint for slander. All this was utterly uncalled for and
stupid, and Levin felt it himself as he said it.

"Oh, this is such an original fellow!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch
with his most soothing, almond-oil smile. "But come along; I
think they're voting...."

And they separated.

"I can't understand," said Sergey Ivanovitch, who had observed
his brother's clumsiness, "I can't understand how anyone can be
so absolutely devoid of political tact. That's where we Russians
are so deficient. The marshal of the province is our opponent,
and with him you're _ami cochon_, and you beg him to stand. Count
Vronsky, now ...I'm not making a friend of him; he's asked me
to dinner, and I'm not going; but he's one of our