For the first moment only, Vronsky was startled after the impression of a quite different world that he had brought with him from Moscow. But immediately as though slipping his feet into old slippers, he dropped back into the lighthearted, pleasant world he had always lived in.

The coffee was never really made, but spluttered over everyone, and boiled away, doing just what was required of it⁠—that is, providing much cause for much noise and laughter, and spoiling a costly rug and the baroness’s gown.

“Well now, goodbye, or you’ll never get washed, and I shall have on my conscience the worst sin a gentleman can commit. So you would advise a knife to his throat?”

“To be sure, and manage that your hand may not be far from his lips. He’ll kiss your hand, and all will end satisfactorily,” answered Vronsky.

“So at the Français!” and, with a rustle of her skirts, she vanished.