Vronsky looked at Levin and Countess Nordston, and smiled.

“Are you always in the country?” he inquired. “I should think it must be dull in the winter.”

“It’s not dull if one has work to do; besides, one’s not dull by oneself,” Levin replied abruptly.

“I am fond of the country,” said Vronsky, noticing, and affecting not to notice, Levin’s tone.

“But I hope, count, you would not consent to live in the country always,” said Countess Nordston.

“I don’t know; I have never tried for long. I experienced a queer feeling once,” he went on. “I never longed so for the country, Russian country, with bast shoes and peasants, as when I was spending a winter with my mother in Nice. Nice itself is dull enough, you know. And indeed, Naples and Sorrento are only pleasant for a short time. And it’s just there that Russia comes back to me most vividly, and especially the country. It’s as though.⁠ ⁠…”