Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Four/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II
On his return home, Vronsky found a note from Anna. She wrote:—
I am ill and unhappy; I cannot go out, and I cannot live longer without seeing you. Come this evening. Alekseï Aleksandrovitch will be at the council from seven o'clock till ten.
This invitation, given in spite of her husband's formal prohibition, seemed strange to him; but he finally decided to go to Anna's.
Since the beginning of the winter, Vronsky had been promoted as colonel; he had left the regiment and was living alone. After having finished his breakfast, he stretched himself out on the divan, and in five minutes the recollection of the wild scenes of the preceding days became curiously mingled in his mind with Anna and a peasant whipper-in, who had performed an important part in the bear-hunt; finally he fell asleep. He awoke; night had come. Shivering with apprehension, he hastily lighted a candle. "What has happened to me? What terrible dream have I had?" he asked himself. "Yes, yes, the peasant, a dirty little man, with a disheveled beard, bent something or other up double, and pronounced some strange words in French. I did n't dream anything else; why am I so terrified?"
But, in recalling the peasant and his incomprehensible French words, a sense of something horrible sent a cold shiver down his back.
"What nonsense!" he thought as he looked at his watch. It was already half-past eight; he called his man, dressed quickly, went out, and, entirely forgetting his dream, thought only of being late.
As he approached the Karenins' house, he again looked at his watch, and saw that it lacked ten minutes of nine. A high, narrow carriage, drawn by two gray horses, stood in front of the door; he recognized Anna's carriage.
"She was coming to my house," he said to himself; "and it would be better. It is disagreeable for me to go into this house, but it makes no difference to me, I cannot conceal myself;" and, with the manner of a man accustomed from childhood to act above board, he left his sleigh, and mounted the steps. The door opened, and the Swiss, carrying a plaid, motioned to the carriage to draw near. Vronsky, who was not accustomed to observe details, was struck by the look of astonishment which the Swiss gave him. At the door Vronsky came near running into Alekseï Aleksandrovitch. A gaslight placed at the entrance of the vestibule threw full light on his pale, worn face. He wore a black hat, and a white cravat showing under a fur collar. Karenin's gloomy, dull eyes fixed themselves on Vronsky, who bowed. Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, drawing his lips together, raised his hand to his hat, and passed. Vronsky saw him get into his carriage without turning round, take his plaid and opera-glass, which the Swiss servant handed through the door, and disappear.
Vronsky went into the anteroom. His brows were contracted, and his eyes flashed with anger and outraged pride.
"What a situation!" thought Vronsky. "If he would fight to defend his honor, I should know what to do to express my sentiments; but this weakness or cowardice.... He places me in the position of a deceiver, which I never was and never will be."
Since the explanation that he had had with Anna in the Vrede garden, Vronsky's idea had greatly changed. Involuntarily overcome by Anna's weakness,—for she had given herself to him without reserve and expected from him only the decision as to her future fate,—Vronsky had long ceased to think that this liaison might end as he had supposed it would. His ambitious plans had again been relegated to the background, and he, feeling that he had definitely left that circle of activity where everything was determined, gave himself up entirely to his feeling, and this feeling drew him more and more vigorously toward her.
Even in the reception-room, he heard her footsteps drawing near. He knew that she was waiting for him and had just entered the drawing-room near by, to watch for him.
"No," she cried, seeing him enter, "things cannot go on in this way!" And at the sound of her own voice, her eyes filled with tears. "If this is going on this way, it would be far better if it had ended long ago!"
"What is the matter, my friend?"
"The matter! I have been waiting in torture for two hours; but no, I do not want to quarrel with you. .... Of course you could not come. No, I will not scold you any more."
She put her two hands on his shoulders, and looked at him long, with her eyes deep and tender, although searching. She studied his face for all the time that she had not seen him. As always happened every time they met, she tried to compare her imaginary presentment of him—it was incomparably better because it was impossible in reality—with him as he really was.