“Mind you’re not late!” was Yashvin’s only comment; and to change the conversation: “How’s my roan? is he doing all right?” he inquired, looking out of the window at the middle one of the three horses, which he had sold Vronsky.

“Stop!” cried Petritsky to Vronsky as he was just going out. “Your brother left a letter and a note for you. Wait a bit; where are they?”

Vronsky stopped.

“Well, where are they?”

“Where are they? That’s just the question!” said Petritsky solemnly, moving his forefinger upwards from his nose.

“Come, tell me; this is silly!” said Vronsky smiling.