| PART 1
Chapter 14
 But at that very moment the princess came in.  There was a look
 of horror on her face when she saw them alone, and their
 disturbed faces.  Levin bowed to her, and said nothing.  Kitty
 did not speak nor lift her eyes.  "Thank God, she has refused
 him," thought the mother, and her face lighted up with the
 habitual smile with which she greeted her guests on Thursdays.
 She sat down and began questioning Levin about his life in the
 country.  He sat down again, waiting for other visitors to
 arrive, in order to retreat unnoticed. Five minutes later there came in a friend of Kitty's, married the
 preceding winter, Countess Nordston. She was a thin, sallow, sickly, and nervous woman, with brilliant
 black eyes.  She was fond of Kitty, and her affection for her
 showed itself, as the affection of married women for girls always
 does, in the desire to make a match for Kitty after her own ideal
 of married happiness; she wanted her to marry Vronsky.  Levin she
 had often met at the Shtcherbatskys' early in the winter, and she
 had always disliked him.  Her invariable and favorite pursuit,
 when they met, consisted in making fun of him. "I do like it when he looks down at me from the height of his
 grandeur, or breaks off his learned conversation with me because
 I'm a fool, or is condescending to me.  I like that so; to see
 him condescending!  I am so glad he can't bear me," she used to
 say of him. She was right, for Levin actually could not bear her, and
 despised her for what she was proud of and regarded as a fine
 characteristic--her nervousness, her delicate contempt and
 indifference for everything coarse and earthly. The Countess Nordston and Levin got into that relation with one
 another not seldom seen in society, when two persons, who remain
 externally on friendly terms, despise each other to such a degree
 that they cannot even take each other seriously, and cannot even
 be offended by each other. The Countess Nordston pounced upon Levin at once. |