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 vant in conversation, when the Secretary of the Assembly, a little old man, who made a specialty of knowing all the nobles of the province by their full names, came to call him.

"Excuse me, Konstantin Dmitritch," said he; "your brother is asking for you. The opinion is to be voted on."

Levin went into the hall, took a little white ball, and, following close behind Sergyeï Ivanovitch, he went to the table where Sviazhsky was standing with an important and ironical air, running his beard through his hand and occasionally putting it to his nose. Sergyeï Ivanovitch put his ball into the ballot-box, and made room for Levin; but Levin, having entirely forgotten what the voting was for, was disconcerted, and asked his brother:—

"Where shall I put it?"

He spoke in a low tone, and as there was talking near him, he hoped that his question would not be overheard; but the speakers stopped, and his unfortunate question was heard. Sergyeï Ivanovitch frowned, and replied sternly:—

"This is a matter entirely of conviction."

A number of the bystanders smiled. Much embarrassed. Levin quickly cast his vote, and as he happened to hold it in his right hand, he threw it into the right-hand receptacle. Only after he had deposited it did he remember that he ought to have put it in his left hand, and he did so, but it was already too late; and growing still more confused, he hastily made his way to the very rear rank.

"One hundred and twenty-six in the affirmative; ninety-eight in the negative," announced the secretary, who could not pronounce the letter r. Then a laugh went round; a button and two nuts were found in the ballot-box. The questionable noble was admitted and the new party was victorious.

But the old party did not even yet acknowledge itself defeated. Levin heard them request Snetkof to stand as their candidate, and he saw a throng of nobles surrounding the government marshal, who was making an address. Levin went nearer. In reply to the nobles,