"She is dying; the doctors say that there is no hope. I am in your power. Only allow me to remain here. .... I will conform to your wishes in every other respect. I ...."
When he saw Vronsky in tears, Alekseï Aleksandrovitch felt the involuntary tenderness that the sufferings of others always caused him; he turned away his head without replying, and went to the door.
Anna's voice could be heard from the sleeping-room, lively, gay, and with clear intonations.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch went in and approached her bed. She was lying with her face turned toward him. Her cheeks were bright red, her eyes brilliant; her little white hands, coming out of the sleeves of her nightdress, were playing with the corner of the coverlet. Not only did she seem fresh and well, but in the happiest frame of mind; she talked fast and loud, accenting her words with precision and nicety.
"Because Alekseï—I am speaking of Alekseï Aleksandrovitch—strange, isn't it, and cruel, that both should be named Alekseï?—Alekseï would not have refused me; I should have forgotten; he would have forgiven. .... Yes! why does he not come? He is good; he himself does not know how good he is .... Akh! Bozhe moï! what agony! Give me some water, quick! Akh! but that is not good for her, .... my little daughter. Well! then, very good; give her to the nurse. I am willing; that will be even better. Now when he comes, she will be hateful in his sight; take her away."
"Anna Arkadyevna, he has come; here he is," said the nurse, trying to draw her attention to Alekseï Aleksandrovitch.
"Oh, what nonsense!" continued Anna, without seeing her husband. "There! give the little one to me, give her to me! He hasn't come yet. You pretend that he will not forgive me because you do not know him. No one knows him, I alone.... His eyes, one must know them. Serozha's are very like them; that is why I can no longer look at them. Has Serozha had his dinner? I know he will be forgotten. Oh, do not
