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The horses who had run in the last race were being led home,

steaming and exhausted, by the stable-boys, and one after another

the fresh horses for the coming race made their appearance, for

the most part English racers, wearing horsecloths, and looking

with their drawn-up bellies like strange, huge birds. On the

right was led in Frou-Frou, lean and beautiful, lifting up her

elastic, rather long pasterns, as though moved by springs. Not

far from her they were taking the rug off the lop-eared

Gladiator. The strong, exquisite, perfectly correct lines of the

stallion, with his superb hind-quarters and excessively short

pasterns almost over his hoofs, attracted Vronsky's attention in

spite of himself. He would have gone up to his mare, but he was

again detained by an acquaintance.

"Oh, there's Karenin!" said the acquaintance with whom he was

chatting. "He's looking for his wife, and she's in the middle of

the pavilion. Didn't you see her?"