e it better?" Lvov said, with his
beautiful smile, touching her hand. "Anyone who didn't know you
would think you were a stepmother, not a true mother."

"No, extremes are not good in anything," Natalia said serenely,
putting his paper knife straight in its proper place on the
table.

"Well, come here, you perfect children," Lvov said to the two
handsome boys who came in, and after bowing to Levin, went up to
their father, obviously wishing to ask him about something.

Levin would have liked to talk to them, to hear what they would
say to their father, but Natalia began talking to him, and then
Lvov's colleague in the service, Mahotin, walked in, wearing his
court uniform, to go with him to meet someone, and a conversation
was kept up without a break upon Herzegovina, Princess
Korzinskaya, the town council, and the sudden death of Madame
Apraksina.

Levin even forgot the commission intrusted to him. He
recollected it as he was going into the hall.

"Oh, Kitty told me to talk to you about Oblonsky," he said, as
Lvov was standing on the stairs, seeing his wife and Levin off.

"Yes, yes, maman wants us, _les beaux-freres,_ to attack him,"
he said, blushing. "But why should I?"

"Well, then, I will attack him," said Madame Lvova, with a smile,
standing in her white sheepskin cape, waiting till they had
finished speaking. "Come, let us go."

Chapter 5

At the concert in the afternoon two very interesting things were
performed. One was a fantasia, _King Lear;_ the other was a
quartette dedicated to the memory of Bach. Both were new and in
the new style, and Levin was eager to form an opinion of them.
After escorting his sister-in-law to her stall, he stood against
a column and tried to listen as attentively and conscientiously
as possible. He tried not to let his attention be distracted,
and not to spoil his impression by looking at the conductor in a
white tie, waving his arms, which always disturbed his enjoyment
of music so much, or the ladies in bonnets, with strings
carefully tied over their ears, and all these people either
thinking of nothing at all or thinking of all sorts of things
except the music. He tried to avoid meeting musical connoisseurs
or talkative acquaintances, and stood looking at the floor
straight before him, listening.

But the more he listened to the fantasia of King Lear the further
he felt from forming any definite opinion of it. There was, as
it were, a continual beg