Greeting and saying a few words to everyone, he sat down without once glancing at Levin, who had never taken his eyes off him.
"Let me introduce you," said the princess, indicating Levin. "Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin, Count Alexey Kirillovitch Vronsky."
Vronsky got up and, looking cordially at Levin, shook hands with him.
"I believe I was to have dined with you this winter," he said, smiling his simple and open smile; "but you had unexpectedly left for the country."
"Konstantin Dmitrievitch despises and hates town and us townspeople," said Countess Nordston.
"My words must make a deep impression on you, since you remember them so well," said Levin, and, suddenly conscious that he had said just the same thing before, he reddened.
Vronsky looked at Levin and Countess Nordston, and smiled.
"Are you always in the country?" he inquired. "I should think it must be dull in the winter."
"It's not dull if one has work to do; besides, one's not dull by oneself," Levin replied abruptly.
"I am fond of the country," said Vronsky, noticing, and affecting not to notice, Levin's tone.
"But I hope, count, you would not consent to live in the country always," said Countess Nordston.
"I don't know; I have never tried for long. I experienced a queer feeling once," he went on. "I never longed so for the country, Russian country, with bast shoes and peasants, as when I was spending a winter with my mother in Nice. Nice itself is dull enough, you know. And indeed, Naples and Sorrento are only pleasant for a short time. And it's just there that Russia comes back to me most vividly, and especially the country. It's as though . . . "
