stopped him, and told him various items about the last race, or asked him why he was late.
While they were distributing the prizes at the pavilion, and every one had gone in this direction, Vronsky was joined by his elder brother. Aleksandr Vronsky was a colonel and wore epaulets, and, like Alekseï, was a man of medium stature, and rather thick-set; but he was handsomer and ruddier. His nose was red, and his frank, open face was flushed with wine.
"Did you get my note?" he asked of his brother. "You are never to be found."
Aleksandr Vronsky, in spite of his life of dissipation and his love for drink, which was notorious, was a thoroughly courtly man. Knowing that many eyes might be fixed on them, he preserved, while he talked on a very painful subject, a smiling face, as if he were jesting with his brother about some trifling matter.
"I got it," said he, "but I really don't understand why you interfere."
"I interfere because I noticed you were not to be found this morning, and because you were seen at Peterhof Monday."
"There are matters which cannot be judged except by those who are directly interested, and the matter in which you concern yourself is such." ....
"Yes; but when one is not in the service, he...,"
"I beg you to mind your own business, and that is all."
Alekseï Vronsky's frowning face grew pale, and his rather prominent lower jaw shook. This happened rarely with him. He was a man of kindly heart, and rarely got angry; but when he grew angry, and when his chin trembled, he became dangerous. Aleksandr Vronsky knew it, and with a gay laugh replied:—
"I only wanted to give you matushka's letter. Answer it, and don't get angry before the race. Bonne chance," he added, with a smile, and left him.
The next moment another friendly greeting surprised Vronsky.
"Won't you recognize your friends? How are you, mon cher?" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, with his rosy
