Part Six: Chapter 32

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Before Vronsky's departure for the elections, Anna had reflectedthat the scenes constantly repeated between them each time heleft home, might only make him cold to her instead of attachinghim to her, and resolved to do all she could to control herselfso as to bear the parting with composure. But the cold, severeglance with which he had looked at her when he came to tell herhe was going had wounded her, and before he had started her peaceof mind was destroyed.

　　In solitude afterwards, thinking over that glance which hadexpressed his right to freedom, she came, as she always did, tothe same point--the sense of her own humiliation. "He has theright to go away when and where he chooses. Not simply to goaway, but to leave me. He has every right, and I have none.But knowing that, he ought not to do it. What has he done,though?... He looked at me with a cold, severe expression. Ofcourse that is something indefinable, impalpable, but it hasnever been so before, and that glance means a great deal," shethought. "That glance shows the beginning of indifference."

　　And though she felt sure that a coldness was beginning, there wasnothing she could do, she could not in any way alter herrelations to him. Just as before, only by love and by charmcould she keep him. And so, just as before, only by occupationin the day, by morphine at night, could she stifle the fearfulthought of what would be if he ceased to love her. It is truethere was still one means; not to keep him--for that she wantednothing more than his love--but to be nearer to him, to be insuch a position that he would not leave her. That means wasdivorce and marriage. And she began to long for that, and madeup her mind to agree to it the first time he or Stiva approachedher on the subject.

　　Absorbed in such thoughts, she passed five days without him, thefive days that he was to be at the elections.

　　Walks, conversation with Princess Varvara, visits to thehospital, and, most of all, reading--reading of one book afteranother--filled up her time. But on the sixth day, when thecoachman came back without him, she felt that now she was utterlyincapable of stifling the thought of him and of what he was doingthere, just at that time her little girl was taken ill. Annabegan to look after her, but even that did not distract her mind,especially as the illness was not serious. However hard shetried, she could not love this little child, and to feign lovewas beyond her powers. Towards the evening of that day, stillalone, Anna was in such a panic about him that she decided tostart for the town, but on second thoughts wrote him thecontradictory letter that Vronsky received, and without readingit through, sent it off by a special messenger. The next morningshe received his letter and regretted her own. She dreaded arepetition of the severe look he had flung at her at parting,especially when he knew that the baby was not dangerously ill.But still she was glad she had written to him. At this momentAnna was positively admitting to herself that she was a burden tohim, that he would relinquish his freedom regretfully to returnto her, and in spite of that she was glad he was coming. Let himweary of her, but he would be here with her, so that she wouldsee him, would know of every action he took.

　　She was sitting in the drawing room near a lamp, with a newvolume of Taine, and as she read, listening to the sound of thewind outside, and every minute expecting the carriage to arrive.Several times she had fancied she heard the sound of wheels, butshe had been mistaken. At last she heard not the sound ofwheels, but the coachman's shout and the dull rumble in thecovered entry. Even Princess Varvara, playing patience,confirmed this, and Anna, flushing hotly, got up; but instead ofgoing down, as she had done twice before, she stood still. Shesuddenly felt ashamed of her duplicity, but even more she dreadedhow he might meet her. All feeling of wounded pride had passednow; she was only afraid of the expression of his displeasure.She remembered that her child had been perfectly well again forthe last two days. She felt positively vexed with her forgetting better from the very moment her letter was sent off.Then she thought of him, that he was here, all of him, with hishands, his eyes. She heard his voice. And forgettingeverything, she ran joyfully to meet him.

　　"Well, how is Annie?" he said timidly from below, looking up toAnna as she ran down to him.

　　He was sitting on a chair, and a footman was pulling off his warmover-boot.

　　"Oh, she is better."

　　"And you?" he said, shaking himself.

　　she took his hand in both of hers, and drew it to her waist,never taking her eyes off him.

　　"Well, I'm glad," he said, coldly scanning her, her hair, herdress, which he knew she had put on for him. All was charming,but how many times it had charmed him! And the stern, stonyexpression that she so dreaded settled upon his face.

　　"Well, I'm glad. And are you well?" he said, wiping his dampbeard with his handkerchief and kissing her hand.

　　"Never mind," she thought, "only let him be here, and so long ashe's here he cannot, he dare not, cease to love me."

　　The evening was spent happily and gaily in the presence ofPrincess Varvara, who complained to him that Anna had been takingmorphine in his absence.

　　"What am I to do? I couldn't sleep.... My thoughts preventedme. When he's here I never take it--hardly ever."

　　He told her about the election, and Anna knew how by adroitquestions to bring him to what gave him most pleasure--his ownsuccess. She told him of everything that interested him at home;and all that she told him was of the most cheerful description.

　　But late in the evening, when they were alone, Anna, seeing thatshe had regained complete possession of him, wanted to erase thepainful impression of the glance he had given her for her letter.She said:

　　"Tell me frankly, you were vexed at getting my letter, and youdidn't believe me?"

　　As soon as she had said it, she felt that however warm hisfeelings were to her, he had not forgiven her for that.

　　"Yes," he said, "the letter was so strange. First, Annie ill,and then you thought of coming yourself."

　　"It was all the truth."

　　"Oh, I don't doubt it."

　　"Yes, you do doubt it. You are vexed, I see."

　　"Not for one moment. I'm only vexed, that's true, that you seemsomehow unwilling to admit that there are duties..."

　　"The duty of going to a concert..."

　　"But we won't talk about it," he said.

　　"Why not talk about it?" she said.

　　"I only meant to say that matters of real importance may turn up.Now, for instance, I shall have to go to Moscow to arrange aboutthe house.... Oh, Anna, why are you so irritable? Don't youknow that I can't live without you?"

　　"If so," said Anna, her voice suddenly changing, "it means thatyou are sick of this life.... Yes, you will come for a day andgo away, as men do..."

　　"Anna, that's cruel. I am ready to give up my whole life."

　　But she did not hear him.

　　"If you go to Moscow, I will go too. I will not stay here.Either we must separate or else live together."

　　"Why, you know, that's my one desire. But for that..."

　　"We must get a divorce. I will write to him. I see I cannot goon like this.... But I will come with you to Moscow."

　　"You talk as if you were threatening me. But I desire nothingso much as never to be parted from you," said Vronsky, smiling.

　　But as he said these words there gleamed in his eyes not merely acold look, but the vindictive look of a man persecuted and madecruel.

　　She saw the look and correctly divined its meaning.

　　"If so, it's a calamity!" that glance told her. It was amoment's impression, but she never forgot it.

　　Anna wrote to her husband asking him about a divorce, and towardsthe end of November, taking leave of Princess Varvara, who wantedto go to Petersburg, she went with Vronsky to Moscow. Expectingevery day an answer from Alexey Alexandrovitch, and after thatthe divorce, they now established themselves together likemarried people.