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"So you won't recognize your friends! How are you, mon cher?"

said Stepan Arkadyevitch, as conspicuously brilliant in the midst

of all the Petersburg brilliance as he was in Moscow, his face

rosy, and his whiskers sleek and glossy. "I came up yesterday,

and I'm delighted that I shall see your triumph. When shall we

meet?"

"Come tomorrow to the messroom," said Vronsky, and squeezing him

by the sleeve of his coat, with apologies, he moved away to the

center of the race course, where the horses were being led for

the great steeplechase.