Stepan Arkadyevitch, who had just been drinking and taking some lunch, came up to them in his uniform of a gentleman of the bedchamber, wiping his lips with a perfumed handkerchief of bordered batiste.
"We are placing our forces," he said, pulling out his whiskers, "Sergey Ivanovitch!"
And listening to the conversation, he supported Sviazhsky’s contention.
"One district’s enough, and Sviazhsky’s obviously of the opposition," he said, words evidently intelligible to all except Levin.
"Why, Kostya, you here too! I suppose you’re converted, eh?" he added, turning to Levin and drawing his arm through his. Levin would have been glad indeed to be converted, but could not make out what the point was, and retreating a few steps from the speakers, he explained to Stepan Arkadyevitch his inabili
