"Prokofy saw him in the street."

"Here in Moscow? Where is he? Do you know?" Levin got up from
his chair, as though on the point of starting off at once.

"I am sorry I told you," said Sergey Ivanovitch, shaking his head
at his younger brother's excitement. "I sent to find out where
he is living, and sent him his IOU to Trubin, which I paid. This
is the answer he sent me."

And Sergey Ivanovitch took a note from under a paper-weight and
handed it to his brother.

Levin read in the queer, familiar handwriting: "I humbly beg you
to leave me in peace. That's the only favor I ask of my gracious
brothers.--Nikolay Levin."

Levin read it, and without raising his head stood with the note
in his hands opposite Sergey Ivanovitch.

There was a struggle in his heart between the desire to forget
his unhappy brother for the time, and the consciousness that it
would be base to do so.

"He obviously wants to offend me," pursued Sergey Ivanovitch;
"but he cannot offend me, and I should have wished with all my
heart to assist him, but I know it's impossible to do that."

"Yes, yes," repeated Levin. "I understand and appreciate your
attitude to him; but I shall go and see him."