“Well, if that’s its aim, I’d rather be a savage.” “And so you are a savage. All you Levins are savages.” Levin sighed. He remembered his brother Nikolay, and felt ashamed and sore, and he scowled; but Oblonsky began speaking of a subject which at once drew his attention. “Oh, I say, are you going tonight to our people, the Shtcherbatskys’, I mean?” he said, his eyes sparkling significantly as he pushed away the empty rough shells, and drew the cheese towards him. “Yes, I shall certainly go,” replied Levin; “though I fancied the princess was not very warm in her invitation.” “What nonsense! That’s her manner.... Come, boy, the soup!... That’s her manner—_grande dame,_” said Stepan Arkadyevitch. “I’m coming, too, but I have to go to the Countess Bonina’s rehearsal. Come, isn’t it true that you’re a savage? How do you explain the sudden way in which you vanished from Moscow? The Shtcherbatskys were continually asking me about you, as though I ought to know. The only thing I know is that you always do what no one else does.” “Yes,” said Levin, slowly and with emotion, “you’re right. I am a savage. Only, my savageness is not in having gone away, but in coming now. Now I have come....” “Oh, what a lucky fellow you are!” broke in Stepan Arkadyevitch, looking into Levin’s eyes. “Why?” “‘I know a gallant steed by tokens sure, And by his eyes I know a youth in love,’” declaimed Stepan Arkadyevitch. “Everything is before you.” “Why, is it over for you already?” “No; not over exactly, but the future is yours, and the present is mine, and the present—well, it’s not all that it might be.” “How so?” “Oh, things go wrong. But I don’t want to talk of myself, and besides I can’t explain it all,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch. “Well, why have you come to Moscow, then?... Hi! take away!” he called to the Tatar. “You guess?” responded Levin, his eyes like deep wells of light fixed on Stepan Arkadyevitch. “I guess, but I can’t be the first to talk about it. You can see by that whether I guess right or wrong,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, gazing at Levin with a subtle smile. “Well, and what have you to say to me?” said Levin in a quivering voice, feeling that all the muscles of his face were quivering too. “How do you look at the question?” Stepan Arkadyevitch slowly emptied his glass of Chablis, never taking his eyes off Levin. “I?” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, “there’s nothing I desire so much as that—nothing! It would be the best thing that could be.” “But you’re not making a mistake? You know what we’re speaking of?” said Levin, piercing him with his eyes. “You think it’s possible?” “I think it’s possible. Why not possible?” “No! do you really think it’s possible? No, tell me all you think! Oh, but if ... if refusal’s in store for me!... Indeed I feel sure....” “Why should you think that?” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling at his excitement. “It seems so to me sometimes. That will be awful for me, and for her too.”