“No, I don’t.  Why do you ask?”

“Give us another bottle,” Stepan Arkadyevitch directed the Tatar, who was filling up their glasses and fidgeting round them just when he was not wanted.

“Why you ought to know Vronsky is that he’s one of your rivals.”

“Who’s Vronsky?” said Levin, and his face was suddenly transformed from the look of childlike ecstasy which Oblonsky had just been admiring to an angry and unpleasant expression.

“Vronsky is one of the sons of Count Kirill Ivanovitch Vronsky, and one of the finest specimens of the gilded youth of Petersburg.  I made his acquaintance in Tver when I was there on official business, and he came there for the levy of recruits.  Fearfully rich, handsome, great connections, an aide-de-camp, and with all that a very nice, good-natured fellow.  But he’s more than simply a good-natured fellow, as I’ve found out here—­he’s a cultivated man, too, and very intelligent; he’s a man who’ll make his mark.”

Levin scowled and was dumb.

“Well, he turned up here soon after you’d gone, and as I can see, he’s over head and ears in love with Kitty, and you know that her mother...”

“Excuse me, but I know nothing,” said Levin, frowning gloomily.  And immediately he recollected his brother Nikolay and how hateful he was to have been able to forget him.

“You wait a bit, wait a bit,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling and touching his hand.  “I’ve told you what I know, and I repeat that in this delicate and tender matter, as far as one can conjecture, I believe the chances are in your favor.”

Levin dropped back in his chair; his face was pale.

“But I would advise you to settle the thing as soon as may be,” pursued Oblonsky, filling up his glass.

“No, thanks, I can’t drink any more,” said Levin, pushing away his glass.  “I shall be drunk....  Come, tell me how are you getting on?” he went on, obviously anxious to change the conversation.

“One word more:  in any case I advise you to settle the question soon.  Tonight I don’t advise you to speak,” said Stepan Arkadyevitch.  “Go round tomorrow morning, make an offer in due form, and God bless you...”

“Oh, do you still think of coming to me for some shooting?  Come next spring, do,” said Levin.

Now his whole soul was full of remorse that he had begun this conversation with Stepan Arkadyevitch.  A feeling such as his was profaned by talk of the rivalry of some Petersburg officer, of the suppositions and the counsels of Stepan Arkadyevitch.

Stepan Arkadyevitch smiled.  He knew what was passing in Levin’s soul.

“I’ll come some day,” he said.  “But women, my boy, they’re the pivot everything turns upon.  Things are in a bad way with me, very bad.  And it’s all through women.  Tell me frankly now,” he pursued, picking up a cigar and keeping one hand on his glass; “give me your advice.”