All at once he heard, not far from the edge of the wood, the sound of Varenka's contralto voice, calling Grisha, and a smile of delight passed over Sergey Ivanovitch's face.
Conscious of this smile, he shook his head disapprovingly at his own condition, and taking out a cigar, he began lighting it.
For a long while he could not get a match to light against the trunk of a birch tree.