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She knew that in politics, in philosophy, in theology, Alexey

Alexandrovitch often had doubts, and made investigations; but on

questions of art and poetry, and, above all, of music, of which

he was totally devoid of understanding, he had the most distinct

and decided opinions. He was fond of talking about Shakespeare,

Raphael, Beethoven, of the significance of new schools of poetry

and music, all of which were classified by him with very

conspicuous consistency.

"Well, God be with you," she said at the door of the study, where

a shaded candle and a decanter of water were already put by his

armchair. "And I'll write to Moscow."

He pressed her hand, and again kissed it.

"All the same he's a good man; truthful, good-hearted, and

remarkable in his own line," Anna said to herself going back to

her room, as though she were defending him to someone who had

attacked him and said that one could not love him. "But why is it

his ears stick out so strangely? Or has he had his hair cut?"