“No, thanks, I can’t drink any more,” said Levin, pushing away his glass. “I shall be drunk.... Come, tell me how are you getting on?” he went on, obviously anxious to change the conversation. “One word more: in any case I advise you to settle the question soon. Tonight I don’t advise you to speak,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch. “Go round tomorrow morning, make an offer in due form, and God bless you....” “Oh, do you still think of coming to me for some shooting? Come next spring, do,” said Levin. Now his whole soul was full of remorse that he had begun this conversation with Stepan Arkadyevitch. A feeling such as his was profaned by talk of the rivalry of some Petersburg officer, of the suppositions and the counsels of Stepan Arkadyevitch. Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled. He knew what was passing in Levin’s soul. “I’ll come some day,” he said. “But women, my boy, they’re the pivot everything turns upon. Things are in a bad way with me, very bad. And it’s all through women. Tell me frankly now,” he pursued, picking up a cigar and keeping one hand on his glass; “give me your advice.” “Why, what is it?” “I’ll tell you. Suppose you’re married, you love your wife, but you’re fascinated by another woman....” “Excuse me, but I’m absolutely unable to comprehend how ... just as I can’t comprehend how I could now, after my dinner, go straight to a baker’s shop and steal a roll.” Stepan Arkadyevitch’s eyes sparkled more than usual. “Why not? A roll will sometimes smell so good one can’t resist it.” “Himmlisch ist’s, wenn ich bezwungen Meine irdische Begier; Aber doch wenn’s nich gelungen Hatt’ ich auch recht hübsch Plaisir!” As he said this, Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled subtly. Levin, too, could not help smiling. “Yes, but joking apart,” resumed Stepan Arkadyevitch, “you must understand that the woman is a sweet, gentle loving creature, poor and lonely, and has sacrificed everything. Now, when the thing’s done, don’t you see, can one possibly cast her off? Even supposing one parts from her, so as not to break up one’s family life, still, can one help feeling for her, setting her on her feet, softening her lot?” “Well, you must excuse me there. You know to me all women are divided into two classes ... at least no ... truer to say: there are women and there are ... I’ve never seen exquisite fallen beings, and I never shall see them, but such creatures as that painted Frenchwoman at the counter with the ringlets are vermin to my mind, and all fallen women are the same.” “But the Magdalen?” “Ah, drop that! Christ would never have said those words if He had known how they would be abused. Of all the Gospel those words are the only ones remembered. However, I’m not saying so much what I think, as what I feel. I have a loathing for fallen women. You’re afraid of spiders, and I of these vermin. Most likely you’ve not made a study of spiders and don’t know their character; and so it is with me.”