The head deacon, as though to remind them of the value of his time, coughed impatiently, making the window-panes quiver in their frames.  In the choir the bored choristers could be heard trying their voices and blowing their noses.  The priest was continually sending first the beadle and then the deacon to find out whether the bridegroom had not come, more and more often he went himself, in a lilac vestment and an embroidered sash, to the side door, expecting to see the bridegroom.  At last one of the ladies, glancing at her watch, said, “It really is strange, though!” and all the guests became uneasy and began loudly expressing their wonder and dissatisfaction.  One of the bridegroom’s best men went to find out what had happened.  Kitty meanwhile had long ago been quite ready, and in her white dress and long veil and wreath of orange blossoms she was standing in the drawing-room of the Shtcherbatskys’ house with her sister, Madame Lvova, who was her bridal-mother.  She was looking out of the window, and had been for over half an hour anxiously expecting to hear from the best man that her bridegroom was at the church.

Levin meanwhile, in his trousers, but without his coat and waistcoat, was walking to and fro in his room at the hotel, continually putting his head out of the door and looking up and down the corridor.  But in the corridor there was no sign of the person he was looking for and he came back in despair, and frantically waving his hands addressed Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was smoking serenely.

“Was ever a man in such a fearful fool’s position?” he said.

“Yes, it is stupid,” Stepan Arkadyevitch assented, smiling soothingly.  “But don’t worry, it’ll be brought directly.”

“No, what is to be done!” said Levin, with smothered fury.  “And these fools of open waistcoats!  Out of the question!” he said, looking at the crumpled front of his shirt.  “And what if the things have been taken on to the railway station!” he roared in desperation.

“Then you must put on mine.”

“I ought to have done so long ago, if at all.”

“It’s not nice to look ridiculous....  Wait a bit! it will come round.”

The point was that when Levin asked for his evening suit, Kouzma, his old servant, had brought him the coat, waistcoat, and everything that was wanted.

“But the shirt!” cried Levin.

“You’ve got a shirt on,” Kouzma answered, with a placid smile.

Kouzma had not thought of leaving out a clean shirt, and on receiving instructions to pack up everything and send it round to the Shtcherbatskys’ house, from which the young people were to set out the same evening, he had done so, packing everything but the dress suit.  The shirt worn since the morning was crumpled and out of the question with the fashionable open waistcoat.  It was a long way to send to the Shtcherbatskys’.  They sent out to buy a shirt.  The servant came back; everything