| PART 6
Chapter 11
 When Levin and Stepan Arkadyevitch reached the peasant's hut
 where Levin always used to stay, Veslovsky was already there.  He
 was sitting in the middle of the hut, clinging with both hands to
 the bench from which he was being pulled by a soldier, the
 brother of the peasant's wife, who was helping him off with his
 miry boots.  Veslovsky was laughing his infectious, good-humored
 laugh. "I've only just come.  Ils ont ete charmants.  Just fancy, they
 gave me drink, fed me!  Such bread, it was exquisite!  Delicieux!
 And the vodka, I never tasted any better.  And they would not
 take a penny for anything.  And they kept saying: 'Excuse our
 homely ways.'" "What should they take anything for?  They were entertaining you,
 to be sure.  Do you suppose they keep vodka for sale?" said the
 soldier, succeeding at last in pulling the soaked boot off the
 blackened stocking. In spite of the dirtiness of the hut, which was all muddied by
 their boots and the filthy dogs licking themselves clean, and the
 smell of marsh mud and powder that filled the room, and the
 absence of knives and forks, the party drank their tea and ate
 their supper with a relish only known to sportsmen.  Washed and
 clean, they went into a hay-barn swept ready for them, where the
 coachman had been making up beds for the gentlemen. Though it was dusk, not one of them wanted to go to sleep. After wavering among reminiscences and anecdotes of guns, of
 dogs, and of former shooting parties, the conversation rested on
 a topic that interested all of them.  After Vassenka had several
 times over expressed his appreciation of this delightful
 sleeping place among the fragrant hay, this delightful broken
 cart (he supposed it to be broken because the shafts had been
 taken out), of the good nature of the peasants that had treated
 him to vodka, of the dogs who lay at the feet of their respective
 masters, Oblonsky began telling them of a delightful shooting
 party at Malthus's, where he had stayed the previous summer. |