‘Yes, but you say yourself that Ivan takes better care of the cattle now.’
‘I say one thing,’ Agafya Mikhailovna answered, evidently not at random but with a strictly consistent train of thought, ‘you’ve got to get married, that’s what!’
Agafya Mikhailovna’s mention of the very thing he had just been thinking about upset and offended him. Levin frowned and, without answering her, sat down to his work, repeating to himself everything he thought about the significance of that work. Only occasionally he listened in the silence to the sound of Agafya Mikhailovna’s needles and, recalling what he did not want to recall, winced again.
At nine o‘clock they heard a bell and the dull heaving of a carriage through the mud.
‘Well, here’s guests coming to see you, so you won’t be bored,’ said Agafya Mikhailovna, getting up and going to the door. But Levin went ahead of her. His work was not going well now, and he was glad of a guest, whoever it might be.
XXXI
Having run half-way down the stairs, Levin heard the familiar sound of a little cough in the front hall; but he did not hear it clearly because of the noise of his footsteps and hoped that he was mistaken. Then he saw the whole long, bony, familiar figure, and it seemed no longer possible to deceive himself, yet he still hoped that he was mistaken and that this tall man taking off his fur coat and coughing was not his brother Nikolai.
Levin loved his brother, but being with him was always a torment. Now, under the influence of the thought that had come to him and of Agafya Mikhailovna’s reminder, he was in a vague, confused state, and the imminent meeting with his brother seemed especially difficult. Instead of a cheerful, healthy stranger for a guest, who he hoped would divert him in his state of uncertainty, he had to confront his brother, who understood him thoroughly, who would call up all his innermost thoughts, would make him speak his whole mind. And that he did not want.
Angry with himself for this nasty feeling, Levin ran down to the front hall. As soon as he saw his brother up close, this feeling of personal disappointment vanished at once and was replaced by pity. Frightening as his brother Nikolai’s thinness and sickliness had been before, he was now still thinner, still more wasted. He was a skeleton covered with skin.
He stood in the front hall, twitching his long, thin neck and tearing his scarf from it, and smiled with a strange pitifulness. Seeing this smile, humble and obedient, Levin felt his throat contract spasmodically.
‘You see, I’ve come to visit you,’ Nikolai said in a dull voice, not taking his eyes off his brother’s face for a second. ‘I’ve long been wanting to, but I wasn’t feeling well. Now I’m much better,’ he said, wiping his beard with big, thin palms.
‘Yes, yes!’ Levin replied. And he felt still more frightened when, as he kissed him, his lips felt the dryness of his brother’s body and he saw his big, strangely glinting eyes up close.
A few weeks earlier Levin had written to his brother that, following the sale of a small, as yet undivided portion of their inheritance, he was now to receive his share, about two thousand roubles.
Nikolai said that he had come to receive the money and, above all, to visit his own nest, to touch the soil, in order to gather strength, as mighty heroes do, for future action. Despite his increasing stoop, despite his striking thinness in view of his height, his movements were, as usual, quick and impetuous. Levin led him to his study.
His brother changed with particular care, something he had never done before, combed his sparse, straight hair and, smiling, went upstairs.
He was in a most gentle and cheerful mood, as Levin had often remembered him in childhood. He even mentioned Sergei Ivanovich without anger. Seeing Agafya Mikhailovna, he joked with her and asked about the old servants. The news of the death of Parfen Denisych had an unpleasant affect on him. Fear showed in his face, but he recovered at once.
‘Well, he was old,’ he said and changed the subject. ‘So, I’ll live with you for a month or two, and then - to Moscow. You know, Miagkov has promised me a post, and I’ll be going into the service. Now I’ll arrange my life quite differently,’ he went on. ‘You know, I sent that woman away.’
‘Marya Nikolaevna? Why, what for?’
‘Ah, she’s a nasty woman! She caused me a heap of troubles.’ But he did not say what those troubles were. He could not say that he had chased Marya Nikolaevna out because the tea was weak, and above all because she looked after him as if he were an invalid. ‘And then in general I want to change my life completely now. I’ve certainly committed some follies, like everybody else, but money is the least thing, I’m not sorry about it. As long as there’s health - and my health, thank God, has improved.’
