uld not help looking at. It was the
portrait of Anna, painted in Italy by Mihailov. While Stepan
Arkadyevitch went behind the _treillage_, and the man's voice
which had been speaking paused, Levin gazed at the portrait,
which stood out from the frame in the brilliant light thrown
on it, and he could not tear himself away from it. He positively
forgot where he was, and not even hearing what was said, he could
not take his eyes off the marvelous portrait. It was not a
picture, but a living, charming woman, with black curling hair,
with bare arms and shoulders, with a pensive smile on the lips,
covered with soft down; triumphantly and softly she looked at him
with eyes that baffled him. She was not living only because she
was more beautiful than a living woman can be.

"I am delighted!" He heard suddenly near him a voice,
unmistakably addressing him, the voice of the very woman he had
been admiring in the portrait. Anna had come from behind the
treillage to meet him, and Levin saw in the dim light of the
study the very woman of the portrait, in a dark blue shot gown,
not in the same position nor with the same expression, but with
the same perfection of beauty which the artist had caught in the
portrait. She was less dazzling in reality, but, on the other
hand, there was something fresh and seductive in the living woman
which was not in the portrait.

Chapter 10

She had risen to meet him, not concealing her pleasure at seeing
him; and in the quiet ease with which she held out her little
vigorous hand, introduced him to Vorkuev and indicated a
red-haired, pretty little girl who was sitting at work, calling
her her pupil, Levin recognized and liked the manners of a woman
of the great world, always self-possessed and natural.

"I am delighted, delighted," she repeated, and on her lips these
simple words took for Levin's ears a special significance. "I
have known you and liked you for a long while, both from your
friendship with Stiva and for your wife's sake.... I knew her
for a very short time, but she left on me the impression of an
exquisite flower, simply a flower. And to think she will soon be
a mother!"

She spoke easily and without haste, looking now and then from
Levin to her brother, and Levin felt that the impression he was
making was good, and he felt immediately at home, simple and
happy with her, as though he had known her from childhood.

"Ivan Petrovitch and I settled in Alexey's stud