eyes, and continuing to twist the ends of his mustache deliberately, as if, after this work of regulation were accomplished, any rash and quick, motion might destroy it.
"You always come out of this operation as from a bath," said Petritsky, "I come from Gritska's,"—so they called their regimental commander,—"they are waiting for you."
Vronsky looked at his comrade without replying; his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Ah! then that music is at his house?" he remarked, hearing the well-known sounds of waltzes and polkas, played by a military band. "What is the celebration?"
"Serpukhovskoï has come."
"Ah!" said Vronsky, "I did not know it."
The smile in his eyes was brighter than ever.
Having once decided for himself that he was happy in his love, he had elected to sacrifice his ambition to his love. Having at least taken on himself to play this part, he could feel neither envy at Serpukhovskoï, nor vexation because he, returning to the regiment, had not come first to see him. Serpukhovskoï was a good friend of his, and Vronsky was glad for him.
"Ah! I am very glad."
The regimental commander, Demin, lived in a large seignorial mansion. All the company had assembled on the lower front balcony. What first struck Vronsky's eyes as he reached the door were the singers of the regiment, in summer uniform, grouped around a keg of vodka, and the healthy, jovial face of the regimental commander as he stood surrounded by his officers. He had come out on the front step of the balcony, and was screaming louder than the band, which was playing one of Offenbach's quadrilles. He was giving some orders and gesticulating to a group of soldiers on one side. A group of soldiers, the vakhmistr, or sergeant, and a few non-commissioned officers, reached the balcony at the same instant with Vronsky. The regimental commander, who had been to the table, returned with a glass
