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Chapter 15

The streets were still empty. Levin went to the house of the
Shtcherbatskys. The visitors' doors were closed and everything
was asleep. He walked back, went into his room again, and asked
for coffee. The day servant, not Yegor this time, brought it to
him. Levin would have entered into conversation with him, but a
bell rang for the servant, and he went out. Levin tried to drink
coffee and put some roll in his mouth, but his mouth was quite at
a loss what to do with the roll. Levin, rejecting the roll, put
on his coat and went out again for a walk. It was nine o'clock
when he reached the Shtcherbatskys' steps the second time. In
the house they were only just up, and the cook came out to go
marketing. He had to get through at least two hours more.

All that night and morning Levin lived perfectly unconsciously,
and felt perfectly lifted out of the conditions of material life.
He had eaten nothing for a whole day, he had not slept for two
nights, had spent several hours undressed in the frozen air, and
felt not simply fresher and stronger than ever, but felt utterly
independent of his body; he moved without muscular effort, and
felt as if he could do anything. He was convinced he could fly
upwards or lift the corner of the house, if need be. He spent
the remainder of the time in the street, incessantly looking at
his watch and gazing about him.

And what he saw then, he never saw again after. The children
especially going to school, the bluish doves flying down from
the roofs to the pavement, and the little loaves covered with
flour, thrust out by an unseen hand, touched him. Those loaves,
those doves, and those two boys were not earthly creatures. It
all happened at the same time: a boy ran towards a dove and
glanced smiling at Levin; the dove, with a whir of her wings,
darted away, flashing in the sun, amid grains of snow that
quivered in the air, while from a little window there came a
smell of fresh-baked bread, and the loaves were put out. All of
this together was so extraordinarily nice that Levin laughed and
cried with delight. Going a long way round by Gazetny Place and
Kislovka, he went back again to the hotel, and putting his watch
before him, he sat down to wait for twelve o'clock. In the next
room they were talking about some sort of machines, and
swindling, and coughing their morning coughs. They did not
realize that the hand was near twelve. The hand reached it.
Levin went out onto the steps. The sledge-drivers clearly knew
all about it. They crowded round Levin with happy faces,
quarreling among themselves, and offering their services. Trying
not to offend the other sledge drivers, and promising to drive
with them too, Levin took one and told him to drive to the
Shtcherbatskys'. The sledge-driver was splendid in a white
shirt-collar sticking out over his overcoat and into his strong,
full-blooded red neck. The sledge was high and comfortable, and
altogether such a one as Levin never drove in after, and the
horse was a good one, and tried to gallop but didn't seem to
move. The driver knew the Shtcherbatskys' house, and drew up at
the entrance with a curve of his arm and a "Wo!" especially
indicative of respect for his fare. The Shtcherbatskys'
hall-porter certainly knew all about it. This was evident from
the smile in his eyes and the way he said:

"Well, it's a long while since you've been to see us, Konstantin

Not only he knew all about it, but he was unmistakably delighted
and making efforts to conceal his joy. Looking into his kindly
old eyes, Levin realized even something new in his happiness.

"Are they up?"

"Pray walk in! Leave it here," said he, smiling, as Levin would
have come back to take his hat. That meant something.

"To whom shall I announce your honor?" asked the footman.

The footman, though a young man, and one of the new school of
footmen, a dandy, was a very kind-hearted, good fellow, and he
too knew all about it.

"The princess...the prince...the young princess..." said Levin.

The first person he saw was Mademoiselle Linon. She walked
across the room, and her ringlets and her face were beaming. He
had only just spoken to her, when suddenly he heard the rustle of
a skirt at the door, and Mademoiselle Linon vanished from Levin's
eyes, and a joyful terror came over him at the nearness of his
happiness. Mademoiselle Linon was in great haste, and leaving
him, went out at the other door. Directly she had gone out,
swift, swift light steps sounded on the parquet, and his bliss,
his life, himself--what was best in himself, what he had so long
sought and longed for--was quickly, so quickly approaching him.
She did not walk, but seemed, by some unseen force, to float to
him. He saw nothing but her clear, truthful eyes, frightened by
the same bliss of love that flooded his heart. Those eyes were
shining nearer and nearer, blinding him with their light of love.
She stopped still close to him, touching him. Her hands rose and
dropped onto his shoulders.

She had done all she could--she had run up to him and given
herself up entirely, shy and happy. He put his arms round her
and pressed his lips to her mouth that sought his kiss.

She too had not slept all night, and had been expecting him all
the morning.

Her mother and father had consented without demur, and were happy
in her happiness. She had been waiting for him. She wanted to
be the first to tell him her happiness and his. She had got
ready to see him alone, and had been delighted at the idea, and
had been shy and ashamed, and did not know herself what she was
doing. She had heard his steps and voice, and had waited at the
door for Mademoiselle Linon to go. Mademoiselle Linon had gone
away. Without thinking, without asking herself how and what, she
had gone up to him, and did as she was doing.

"Let us go to mamma!" she said, taking him by the hand. For a
long while he could say nothing, not so much because he was
afraid of desecrating the loftiness of his emotion by a word, as
that every time he tried to say something, instead of words he
felt that tears of happiness were welling up. He took her hand
and kissed it.

"Can it be true?" he said at last in a choked voice. "I can't
believe you love me, dear!"

She smiled at that "dear," and at the timidity with which he
glanced at her.

"Yes!" she said significantly, deliberately. "I am so happy!"

Not letting go his hands, she went into the drawing room. The
princess, seeing them, breathed quickly, and immediately began to
cry and then immediately began to laugh and with a vigorous step
Levin had not expected, ran up to him, and hugging his head,
kissed him, wetting his cheeks with her tears.

"So it is all settled! I am glad. Love her. I am glad....

"You've not been long settling things," said the old prince,
trying to seem unmoved; but Levin noticed that his eyes were wet
when he turned to him.

"I've long, always wished for this!" said the prince, taking
Levin by the arm and drawing him towards himself. "Even when
this little feather-head fancied..."

"Papa!" shrieked Kitty, and shut his mouth with her hands.

"Well, I won't!" he said. "I'm very, very ...plea ...Oh,
what a fool I am..."

He embraced Kitty, kissed her face, her hand, her face again and
made the sign of the cross over her.

And there came over Levin a new feeling of love for this man,
till then so little known to him, when he saw how slowly and
tenderly Kitty kissed his muscular hand.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Fiction - Russian literature
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