But Levin under his hood felt comfortable; he looked cheerfully round, now at the turbid streams that ran down the ruts, now at the drops that hung from every bare twig, now at the white spots of unthawed sleet that lay on the planks of the bridge or on the heaps of still juicy willow leaves lying in a thick layer round a denuded tree. Notwithstanding the gloomy aspect of nature around him he felt peculiarly elated.
Pero Levin se sentía a gusto bajo su capucha y miraba alegremente, ora los turbios arroyos que corrían por las rodadas, ora las gotas de lluvia que pendían de cada ramita seca, ora las manchas blancas del granizo no fundido sobre las tablas del puente, ora las hojas, abundantes aún, de los olmos, que rodeaban de una capa espesa los troncos desnudos.