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"Maybe he's gone into the passage, but here he comes anyway. That

is he," said the doorkeeper, pointing to a strongly built,

broad-shouldered man with a curly beard, who, without taking off

his sheepskin cap, was running lightly and rapidly up the worn

steps of the stone staircase. One of the members going down-a

lean official with a portfolio-stood out of his way and looked

disapprovingly at the legs of the stranger, then glanced

inquiringly at Oblonsky.

Stepan Arkadyevitch was standing at the top of the stairs. His

good-naturedly beaming face above the embroidered collar of his

uniform beamed more than ever when he recognized the man coming

up.

"Why, it's actually you, Levin, at last!" he said with a friendly

mocking smile, scanning Levin as he approached. "How is it you

have deigned to look me up in this den?" said Stepan

Arkadyevitch, and not content with shaking hands, he kissed his

friend. "Have you been here long?"