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 "To whom? to society; to Russia. Russia needs men, she needs a party; otherwise all is going, and will go, to the dogs."

"What do you mean?—Bertenef's party against the Russian communists?"

"No," said Serpukhovskoï, with a grimace of vexation that he should be accused of any such nonsense. "Tout ça est une blague!—All that is fudge! This always has been, and always will be. There aren't any communists. But intriguing people must needs invent some malignant dangerous party. It's an old joke. No, a powerful party is needed, of independent men, like you and me."

"But why,"—Vronsky named several influential men,—"but why are n't they among the independents?"

"Simply because they had not, through birth, an independent position, or a name, and have not lived near the sun, as we have. They can be bought by money or flattery. And to maintain themselves, they must fix on a certain course, and follow it, though they do not attach any importance to it, and even though it may be bad. They have only one object in view—the means of securing a home at the expense of the crown and certain salaries. Cela n'est pas plus fin que ça, when you look at their cards. Maybe I am worse or more foolish than they, though I don't see why I should be. But I have, and you have, the one inestimable advantage, that it is harder to buy us. And such men are more than ever necessary now."

Vronsky listened attentively, not only because of the meaning of his words, but because of their connection with the case of Serpukhovskoï himself, who was about to engage in the struggle with power, and was entering into that official world, with its sympathies and antipathies, while he was occupied only with the interests of his squadron. Vronsky perceived how strong Serpukhovskoï might be, with his unfailing aptitude for invention, his quickness of comprehension, his intellect, and fluent speech, so rarely met with in the circle in