CHAPTER XVII
The inn where Nikolaï Levin was dying was one of those establishments which are found in governmental cities, built on a new and improved model, with the very best regard for neatness, comfort, and even elegance, but which the public frequenting them cause to degenerate with extraordinary rapidity into filthy grog-shops with pretensions to modern improvements and by reason of this very pretentiousness become far worse than old- fashioned inns which are simply filthy. This inn had already reached this condition. The soldier in dirty uniform, who served as Swiss, and was smoking a cigarette in the vestibule; the perforated cast-iron staircase, gloomy and unpleasant; the impertinent waiter in a dirty black coat; the common "hall" with its table decorated with a dusty bouquet of wax flowers; the dirt, dust, and slovenliness everywhere and at the same time a certain new restlessness and self-sufficiency characteristic of these railway days — everything about this inn produced a feeling of deep depression in the Levins after their recent happiness and especially from the fact that the wretched condition of the inn was wholly irreconcilable with what was waiting for them.
As usual, after they had been asked what priced rooms they wanted, it proved that the best rooms were taken, — one by the supervisor of the railroad, another by a lawyer from Moscow, the third by Princess Astavyeva from the country. One disorderly bedroom was left for them, with the promise that they should have the one next to it, when evening came. Levin took his wife to it, vexed to find his prognostications so speedily realized, and impatient because when his heart was overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of how he should find his brother, he was obliged to get settled instead of hurrying to his brother.
"Go, go!" said Kitty, with a melancholy look of contrition.
He left her without saying a word, and just outside
