“Ivan Petrovitch and I settled in Alexey’s study,” she said in answer to Stepan Arkadyevitch’s question whether he might smoke, “just so as to be able to smoke”⁠—and glancing at Levin, instead of asking whether he would smoke, she pulled closer a tortoiseshell cigar-case and took a cigarette.

“How are you feeling today?” her brother asked her.

“Oh, nothing. Nerves, as usual.”

“Yes, isn’t it extraordinarily fine?” said Stepan Arkadyevitch, noticing that Levin was scrutinizing the picture.

“I have never seen a better portrait.”

“And extraordinarily like, isn’t it?” said Vorkuev.