"I know nothing about it, princess. Do as you think fit," he
said.
"You must decide when you will move."
"I really don't know. I know millions of children are born away
from Moscow, and doctors...why..."
"But if so..."
"Oh, no, as Kitty wishes."
"We can't talk to Kitty about it! Do you want me to frighten
her? Why, this spring Natalia Golitzina died from having an
ignorant doctor."
"I will do just what you say," he said gloomily.
The princess began talking to him, but he did not hear her.
Though the conversation with the princess had indeed jarred upon
him, he was gloomy, not on account of that conversation, but from
what he saw at the samovar.
"No, it's impossible," he thought, glancing now and then at
Vassenka bending over Kitty, telling her something with his
charming smile, and at her, flushed and disturbed.
There was something not nice in Vassenka's attitude, in his eyes,
in his smile. Levin even saw something not nice in Kitty's
attitude and look. And again the light died away in his eyes.
Again, as before, all of a sudden, without the slightest
transition, he felt cast down from a pinnacle of happiness,
peace, and dignity, into an abyss of despair, rage, and
humiliation. Again everything and everyone had become hateful to
him.
"You do just as you think best, princess," he said again, looking
round.
"Heavy is the cap of Monomach," Stepan Arkadyevitch said
playfully, hinting, evidently, not simply at the princess's
conversation, but at the cause of Levin's agitation, which he had
noticed.
"How late you are today, Dolly!"
Everyone got up to greet Darya Alexandrovna. Vassenka only rose
for an instant, and with the lack of courtesy to ladies
characteristic of the modern young man, he scarcely bowed, and
resumed his conversation again, laughing at something.
"I've been worried about Masha. She did not sleep well, and is
dreadfully tiresome today," said Dolly.
The conversation Vassenka had started with Kitty was running on
the same lines as on the previous evening, discussing Anna, and
whether love is to be put higher than worldly considerations.
Kitty disliked the conversation, and she was disturbed both by
the subject and the tone in which it was conducted, and also by
the knowledge of the effect it would have on her husband. But
she was too simple and innocent to know how to cut short this
conversation, or even to conceal the superficial pleasure
afforded her by the young man's very obvious admiration. She
wanted to stop it, but she did not know what to do. Whatever she
did she knew would be observed by her husband, and the worst
interpretation put on it. And, in fact, when she asked Dolly
what was wrong with Masha, and Vassenka, waiting till this
uninteresting conversation was over, began to gaze indifferently
at Dolly, the question struck Levin as an unnatural and
disgusting piece of hypocrisy.