The old curly birches of the gardens, all their twigs laden with snow, looked as though freshly decked in sacred vestments.

He walked along the path towards the skating-ground, and kept saying to himself--"You mustn't be excited, you must be calm.

What's the matter with you? What do you want? Be quiet, stupid," he conjured his heart.

And the more he tried to compose himself, the more breathless he found himself.

An acquaintance met him and called him by his name, but Levin did not even recognize him.