CHAPTER XI
All took part in the general conversation except Kitty and Levin.
At first, when they were talking about the influence of one people over another, Levin recalled what he had to say on this subject; but his thoughts, which at one time had seemed to him very important, simply flashed through his mind like notions in a dream, and now had not the least interest for him; he even thought it strange that people could trouble themselves about such useless questions.
Kitty, for her part, ought to have been interested in what was said about women's rights and education. How many times had she pondered over these subjects as she remembered her friend Varenka, whose dependence was so hard to bear! How many times had she thought what she herself would do in case she should not marry! How often had she disputed with her sister on the subject! But now it did not interest her in the least.
She and Levin had their own talk, and yet it was not a conversation so much as it was a mysterious affinity, which brought them nearer and nearer to each other, and filled them with a joyful timidity before the unknown which they were about to enter.
At first Kitty asked how he happened to see her in the summer, and Levin told her that he was returning from the hay-fields by the highway after the mowing:—
"It was very early in the morning. You had probably just waked. Your maman was asleep in her corner. It was a marvelous morning. I was walking along, saying to myself, 'A carriage with four horses! Whose can it be?' They were four fine horses with bells. And quick as a flash you passed by. I saw you through the door; you were sitting like this, holding the ribbons of your bonnet in your hands, and you seemed awfully deep in thought. How I wished I could know," he added with a smile, "what you were thinking about! Was it something very important?"
