Probably the sight of those tense hands, of the same muscles he had proved that morning at gymnastics, of the glittering eyes, the soft voice, and quivering jaws, convinced Vassenka better than any words. He bowed, shrugging his shoulders, and smiling contemptuously.

`May I not see Oblonsky?'

The shrug and the smile did not irritate Levin. `What else was there for him to do?' he thought.

`I'll send him to you at once.'

`What madness is this?' Stepan Arkadyevich said when, after hearing from his friend that he was being turned out of the house, he found Levin in the garden, where he was walking about waiting for his guest's departure. `Mais c'est ridicule! What flea has bitten you? Mais c'est du dernier ridicule! What did you think, if a young man...'

But the place where Levin had been bitten was evidently still sore, for he turned pale again, when Stepan Arkadyevich would have enlarged on the reason, and he himself cut him short.

`Please don't go into it! I can't help it. I feel ashamed of the way I'm treating you and him. But it won't be, I imagine, a great grief to him to go, and his presence was distasteful to me and to my wife.'

`But it's insulting to him! Et puis c'est ridicule.'

`And to me it's both insulting and distressing! And I'm not in fault in any way, and there's no need for me to suffer.'

`Well, this I didn't expect of you! On peut être jaloux, mais à ce point c'est du dernier ridicule!'

Levin turned quickly, and walked away from him into the depths of the avenue, and he went on walking up and down alone. Soon he heard the rumble of the tarantass, and saw from behind the trees how Vassenka, sitting in the hay (unluckily there was no seat in the tarantass) in his Scotch cap, was driven along the avenue, jolting up and down over the ruts.

`What's this?' Levin thought, when a footman ran out of the house and stopped the tarantass. It was the mechanician, whom Levin had totally forgotten. The mechanician, bowing low, said something to Veslovsky, then clambered into the tarantass and they drove off together.

Stepan Arkadyevich and the Princess were much upset by Levin's action. And he himself felt not only in the highest degree ridicule, but also utterly guilty and disgraced. But remembering what sufferings he and his wife had been through, when he asked himself how he should act another time, he answered that he would do precisely the same.

In spite of all this, toward the end of that day, everyone, except the Princess, who could not pardon Levin's action, became extraordinarily lively and good-humored, like children after a punishment, or grown-up people after a dreary, ceremonious reception, so that by the evening Vassenka's dismissal was spoken of, in the absence of the Princess, as though it were some remote event. And Dolly, who had inherited her father's gift of humorous storytelling, made Varenka helpless with laughter as she related for the third and fourth time, always with fresh humorous additions, how she had just put on her new ribands for the benefit of the visitor, and, on going into the drawing room, had suddenly heard the rumble of the chariot. And who should be in the chariot but Vassenka himself, with his Scotch cap, and his songs, and his gaiters, and all, sitting in the hay.

`If only you'd ordered out the carriage! But no! And then I hear: ``Stop!' Oh, I thought they've relented. I look out - and a fat German is being sat down by him, and they're driving away... And my new ribands all for nothing!...'