She let her eyes fall, and listened to what he was going to say, as if beseeching him in some way to persuade her of his innocence.
"A single moment of temptation," he ended, and was going to continue; but at that word, Dolly's lips again closed tight as if from physical pain, and again the muscles of her right cheek contracted.
"Go away, go away from here," she cried still more impetuously, "and don't speak to me of your temptations and your wretched conduct."
She attempted to leave the room, but she almost fell, and was obliged to lean upon a chair for support. Oblonsky's face grew melancholy, his lips trembled, and his eyes filled with tears.
"Dolly," said he, almost sobbing, "for God's sake think of the children. They are not to blame; I am the one to blame. Punish me! Tell me how I can atone for my fault. .... I am ready to do anything. I am guilty! No words can tell how guilty I am. But, Dolly, forgive me!"
She sat down. He heard her quick, hard breathing, and his soul was filled with pity for her. She tried several times to speak, but could not utter a word. He waited.
"You think of the children, because you like to play with them; but I think of them, too, and I know what they have lost," said she, repeating one of the phrases that during the last three days she had many times repeated to herself.
She had used the familiar tui (thou), and he looked at her with gratitude, and made a movement as if to take her hand, but she turned from him with abhorrence.
"I have consideration for my children, and therefore I would do all in the world to save them; but I do not myself know how I can best save them: by taking them from their father, or by leaving them with a father who is a libertine,—yes, a libertine!.... Now tell me after this,—this that has happened, can we live together? Is it possible? Tell me, is it possible?" she demanded,
