"A hundred and twenty-six for admission! Ninety-eight against!"
sang out the voice of the secretary, who could not pronounce the
letter _r_. Then there was a laugh; a button and two nuts were
found in the box. The nobleman was allowed the right to vote,
and the new party had conquered.
But the old party did not consider themselves conquered. Levin
heard that they were asking Snetkov to stand, and he saw that a
crowd of noblemen was surrounding the marshal, who was saying
something. Levin went nearer. In reply Snetkov spoke of the
trust the noblemen of the province had placed in him, the
affection they had shown him, which he did not deserve, as his
only merit had been his attachment to the nobility, to whom he
had devoted twelve years of service. Several times he repeated
the words: "I have served to the best of my powers with truth and
good faith, I value your goodness and thank you," and suddenly he
stopped short from the tears that choked him, and went out of the
room. Whether these tears came from a sense of the injustice
being done him, from his love for the nobility, or from the
strain of the position he was placed in, feeling himself
surrounded by enemies, his emotion infected the assembly, the
majority were touched, and Levin felt a tenderness for Snetkov.
In the doorway the marshal of the province jostled against Levin.
"Beg pardon, excuse me, please," he said as to a stranger, but
recognizing Levin, he smiled timidly. It seemed to Levin that he
would have liked to say something, but could not speak for
emotion. His face and his whole figure in his uniform with the
crosses, and white trousers striped with braid, as he moved
hurriedly along, reminded Levin of some hunted beast who sees
that he is in evil case. This expression in the marshal's face
was particularly touching to Levin, because, only the day before,
he had been at his house about his trustee business and had seen
him in all his grandeur, a kind-hearted, fatherly man. The big
house with the old family furniture; the rather dirty, far from
stylish, but respectful footmen, unmistakably old house serfs who
had stuck to their master; the stout, good-natured wife in a cap
with lace and a Turkish shawl, petting her pretty grandchild, her
daughter's daughter; the young son, a sixth form high school boy,
coming home from school, and greeting his father, kissing his big
hand; the genuine, cordial words and gestures of the old man--all
this had the day before roused an instinctive feeling of respect
and sympathy in Levin. This old man was a touching and pathetic
figure to Levin now, and he longed to say something pleasant to
him.