eyes, and the quivering face and the subdued sound of his voice impressed Vasenka more than the spoken words. Shrugging his shoulders and smiling disdainfully, he submitted.
"May I not see Oblonsky?"
The shrugging of the shoulders and the smile did not annoy Levin. "What else could he do?" he asked himself.
"I will send him to you immediately."
"What sense is there in such conduct!" exclaimed Stepan Arkadyevitch, when he had learned from his friend that he was to be driven from the house, and finding Levin in the garden, where he was walking up and down waiting for his guest's departure. "Mais c'est ridicule! To be stung by such a fly as that! Mais c'est du dernier ridicule! What difference does it make to you if a young man ...."
But the spot where the fly had stung Levin was evidently still sensitive, because he turned pale again and cut short the explanations which Stepan Arkadyevitch tried to give.
"Please don't take the trouble to defend the young man; I can't help it. I am sorry both for you and for him. But I imagine it won't be a great trial for him to go away, and my wife and I both found his presence unpleasant."
"But it was insulting to him. Et puis c'est ridicule."
"Well, it was humiliating and extremely disagreeable to me. I am not to blame toward him, and there is no reason why I should suffer for it."
"Well, I did not expect this of you. On peut être jaloux, mais à ce point c'est du dernier ridicule."
Levin quickly turned away, and entered the thick shrubbery by the driveway, and continued to walk up and down the path.
Soon he heard the rumbling of the tarantas, and through the trees he saw Vasenka riding up the road, sitting on the straw (for unfortunately the tarantas had no seat), the ribbons of his Scotch cap streaming behind his head as he jolted along.
