"The Tatar waiter rushed off, his coat tails flying; in five minutes he returned with a plate covered with oysters in their pearly shells, and a bottle.

Oblonsky opened his starched napkin and tucked it into his waistcoat, settled his arms comfortably, and began on the oysters.

"Not too bad," he said, lifting the quivering oysters from their pearly shells with a little silver fork, and swallowing them one after another. "Not too bad," he repeated, glancing with soft glittering eyes at Levin, then at the Tatar waiter.

Levin did eat his oysters, though he would have preferred bread and cheese. But he enjoyed watching Oblonsky. Even the Tatar waiter, who had drawn the cork and poured the foaming wine into tall thin wine glasses, straightened his tie and glanced at Oblonsky with an obvious smile of pleasure.

"You don't care for oysters?" asked Oblonsky, as he drained his glass. "Or are you thinking of something else, hm?"