to know what it all meant; then, becoming persuaded that it was beyond his power to comprehend it, it began to bore him. Then, as he thought of the excitement and the angry passions expressed in all faces, he felt melancholy; he made up his mind to depart, and he started down-stairs. As he was passing through the entry of the gallery, he encountered a sad-looking gymnasium scholar walking back and forth with streaming eyes. On the staircase he met a couple, a lady swiftly hurrying along on her heels, and the gentle colleague of the prokuror.
"I told you not to be late," the prokuror was saying, just as Levin stood to one side to give the lady room to pass. Levin was on the lowest stair, and was just getting the cloak-check out of his waistcoat pocket, when the secretary found him.
"Excuse me, Konstantin Dmitriyevitch, they are balloting."
And the candidate who was now receiving votes was this very Nevyedovsky whose refusal had seemed to him so explicit!
Levin started to go into the hall. The door was locked; the secretary knocked; the door opened, and as he entered he met two very red-faced proprietors.
"I cannot endure it," said one of the red-faced proprietors.
Immediately behind the proprietor appeared the old government marshal. His face was terrible in its expression of fright and weakness.
"I told you not to let any one go out!" he shouted to the guard.
"I let some one in, your excellency."[1]
"O Lord!" and, sighing painfully, the old marshal, slinking along in his white pantaloons, with bowed head, went through the hall to the great table.
The vote was counted, and Nevyedovsky, as had been planned, was government marshal. Many were happy; many were satisfied, gay; many were enthusiastic; many were dissatisfied and unhappy. The old gov-
- ↑ Vashe prevoskhodilyelstvo.
