In another man’s house, and especially in Vronsky’s palazzo, Mihailov was quite a different man from what he was in his studio.  He behaved with hostile courtesy, as though he were afraid of coming closer to people he did not respect.  He called Vronsky “your excellency,” and notwithstanding Anna’s and Vronsky’s invitations, he would never stay to dinner, nor come except for the sittings.  Anna was even more friendly to him than to other people, and was very grateful for her portrait.  Vronsky was more than cordial with him, and was obviously interested to know the artist’s opinion of his picture.  Golenishtchev never let slip an opportunity of instilling sound ideas about art into Mihailov.  But Mihailov remained equally chilly to all of them.  Anna was aware from his eyes that he liked looking at her, but he avoided conversation with her.  Vronsky’s talk about his painting he met with stubborn silence, and he was as stubbornly silent when he was shown Vronsky’s picture.  He was unmistakably bored by Golenishtchev’s conversation, and he did not attempt to oppose him.

Altogether Mihailov, with his reserved and disagreeable, as it were, hostile attitude, was quite disliked by them as they got to know him better; and they were glad when the sittings were over, and they were left with a magnificent portrait in their possession, and he gave up coming.  Golenishtchev was the first to give expression to an idea that had occurred to all of them, which was that Mihailov was simply jealous of Vronsky.

“Not envious, let us say, since he has talent; but it annoys him that a wealthy man of the highest society, and a count, too (you know they all detest a title), can, without any particular trouble, do as well, if not better, than he who has devoted all his life to it.  And more than all, it’s a question of culture, which he is without.”

Vronsky defended Mihailov, but at the bottom of his heart he believed it, because in his view a man of a different, lower world would be sure to be envious.

Anna’s portrait—­the same subject painted from nature both by him and by Mihailov—­ought to have shown Vronsky the difference between him and Mihailov; but he did not see it.  Only after Mihailov’s portrait was painted he left off painting his portrait of Anna, deciding that it was now not needed.  His picture of mediaeval life he went on with.  And he himself, and Golenishtchev, and still more Anna, thought it very good, because it was far more like the celebrated pictures they knew than Mihailov’s picture.

Mihailov meanwhile, although Anna’s portrait greatly fascinated him, was even more glad than they were when the sittings were over, and he had no longer to listen to Golenishtchev’s disquisitions upon art, and could forget about Vronsky’s painting.  He knew that Vronsky could not be prevented from amusing himself with painting; he knew that he and all dilettanti had a perfect right to paint what they