rest should devote themselves to their intellectual development and welfare. That is my opinion. I know a great many people are inclined to confound these two, but I am not of the number."
"How delighted I should be to hear that you were in love!" exclaimed Levin. "Pray invite me to your wedding."
"But I am already in love."
"Yes, with some cuttlefish. You know," said Levin, turning to his brother, "Mikhaïl Semyonuitch has written a work on the nutrition, and ...."
"Now, I beg of you not to confuse matters! It is of no consequence what I have written; but it is a fact that I love a cuttlefish."
"That need not prevent your loving a wife."
"No; but my wife would object to my loving the cuttlefish."
"Why so?"
"You will see how it will be. Now, you love your farming, hunting. .... Well! just wait awhile!"
"I met Arkhip to-day," said Chirikof; "he says that there are quantities of elk at Prudnoye, and two bears."
"Well! you may hunt them without me."
"You see how it is," said Sergyeï Ivanovitch, "You may as well say good-by to bear-hunting; your wife won't allow it."
Levin smiled. The idea that his wife would object to his hunting seemed so delightful that he was ready to renounce the pleasure of ever meeting a bear again.
"However, I am sorry to hunt those two bears without you," said Chirikof. "Do you remember the last time at Khapilovo? The hunting was marvelous."
Levin did not care to spoil his friend's illusion that life would be worth nothing without hunting, and so he made no reply.
"The custom of saying good-by to one's bachelor life is not without meaning," said Sergyeï Ivanovitch. "However happy one may be, a man regrets his liberty."
