At four o’clock, conscious of his throbbing heart,        Levin stepped out of a hired sledge at the Zoological        Gardens, and turned along the path to the frozen        mounds and the skating ground, knowing that he(5)    would certainly find her there, as he had seen the        Shtcherbatskys’ carriage at the entrance.        It was a bright, frosty day. Rows of carriages,        sledges, drivers, and policemen were standing in the        approach. Crowds of well-dressed people, with hats(10)    bright in the sun, swarmed about the entrance and        along the well-swept little paths between the little        houses adorned with carving in the Russian style.        The old curly birches of the gardens, all their twigs        laden with snow, looked as though freshly decked in(15)    sacred vestments.        He walked along the path towards the skating-        ground, and kept saying to himself—“You mustn’t        be excited, you must be calm. What’s the matter        with you? What do you want? Be quiet, stupid,” he(20)    conjured his heart. And the more he tried to com-        pose himself, the more breathless he found himself.        An acquaintance met him and called him by his        name, but Levin did not even recognize him. He        went towards the mounds, whence came the clank(25)    of the chains of sledges as they slipped down or        were dragged up, the rumble of the sliding sledges,        and the sounds of merry voices. He walked on a few        steps, and the skating-ground lay open before his        eyes, and at once, amidst all the skaters, he knew her.(30)    He knew she was there by the rapture and the ter-        ror that seized on his heart. She was standing talking        to a lady at the opposite end of the ground. There        was apparently nothing striking either in her dress        or her attitude. But for Levin she was as easy to find(35)    in that crowd as a rose among nettles. Everything        was made bright by her. She was the smile that shed        light on all round her. “Is it possible I can go over        there on the ice, go up to her?” he thought. The place        where she stood seemed to him a holy shrine, unap-(40)    proachable, and there was one moment when he        was almost retreating, so overwhelmed was he with        terror. He had to make an effort to master himself,        and to remind himself that people of all sorts were        moving about her, and that he too might come there(45)    to skate. He walked down, for a long while avoiding        looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one        does the sun, without looking.        On that day of the week and at that time of day        people of one set, all acquainted with one another,(50)    used to meet on the ice. There were crack skaters        there, showing off their skill, and learners clinging to        chairs with timid, awkward movements, boys, and        elderly people skating with hygienic motives. They        seemed to Levin an elect band of blissful beings(55)    because they were here, near her. All the skaters, it        seemed, with perfect self-possession, skated towards        her, skated by her, even spoke to her, and were        happy, quite apart from her, enjoying the capital ice        and the fine weather.(60)    Nikolay Shtcherbatsky, Kitty’s cousin, in a short        jacket and tight trousers, was sitting on a garden        seat with his skates on. Seeing Levin, he shouted to        him:        “Ah, the first skater in Russia! Been here long?(65)    First-rate ice—do put your skates on.”