The ladies were especially charming. It seemed to Levin that they knew all, and that they shared his joy, but that they avoided speaking of it from discretion. He remained for three hours, talking on various subjects, and continually alluding to what filled his soul, without noticing that he was mortally tiring his friends, and that they were falling asleep.
At last, Sviazhsky, yawning, accompanied him to the vestibule, very much surprised at the strange state of mind in which his friend seemed to be. It was two o'clock! Levin reached his hotel and was aghast at the thought of passing the next ten hours alone, a prey to his impatience. The watchman who was on duty in the corridor lighted his candles, and was about to withdraw when Levin stopped him. This fellow, who was called Yegor and whom Levin had never before noticed, seemed like a good, intelligent man, and, above all, kind-hearted.
"Tell me, Yegor, don't you find it hard to go without your sleep?"
"What can I do about it? It is our calling. We have an easier time in gentlemen's houses, but here we get larger wages."
It seemed that Yegor was the father of a family of four children,—three boys, and a girl trained as a seamstress, whom he hoped to marry to a harness-maker's clerk.
Levin seized this opportunity to communicate his ideas about love in marriage to Yegor, remarking that people are always happy where there is love, because their happiness is in themselves.
Yegor listened attentively, and evidently understood Levin's meaning; but he confirmed it by an unexpected reflection,—that when he, Yegor, had served good masters, he had always been satisfied with them, and that he was contented with his master now, although he was a Frenchman.
"What a wonderfully good fellow!" thought Levin. "Well, and did you love your wife, Yegor, when you married her?"
