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Vronsky took the letter and his brother's note. It was the letter

he was expecting-from his mother, reproaching him for not having

been to see her-and the note was from his brother to say that he

must have a little talk with him. Vronsky knew that it was all

about the same thing. "What business is it of theirs!" thought

Vronsky, and crumpling up the letters he thrust them between the

buttons of his coat so as to read them carefully on the road. In

the porch of the hut he was met by two officers; one of his

regiment and one of another.

Vronsky's quarters were always a meeting place for all the

officers.

"Where are you off to?"

"I must go to Peterhof."

"Has the mare come from Tsarskoe?"

"Yes, but I've not seen her yet."

"They say Mahotin's Gladiator's lame."

"Nonsense! But however are you going to race in this mud?" said

the other.