Pulling the stiff rein and holding in the good horse that snorted
with impatience and seemed begging to be let go, Levin looked
round at Ivan sitting beside him, not knowing what to do with his
unoccupied hand, continually pressing down his shirt as it puffed
out, and he tried to find something to start a conversation about
with him. He would have said that Ivan had pulled the
saddle-girth up too high, but that was like blame, and he longed
for friendly, warm talk. Nothing else occurred to him.

"Your honor must keep to the right and mind that stump," said the
coachman, pulling the rein Levin held.

"Please don't touch and don't teach me!" said Levin, angered by
this interference. Now, as always, interference made him angry,
and he felt sorrowfully at once how mistaken had been his
supposition that his spiritual condition could immediately change
him in contact with reality.

He was not a quarter of a mile from home when he saw Grisha and
Tanya running to meet him.

"Uncle Kostya! mamma's coming, and grandfather, and Sergey
Ivanovitch, and someone else," they said, clambering up into the
trap.

"Who is he?"

"An awfully terrible person! And he does like this with his
arms," said Tanya, getting up in the trap and mimicking
Katavasov.

"Old or young?" asked Levin, laughing, reminded of someone, he
did not know whom, by Tanya's performance.