CHAPTER VIII
Anna, during this first period of freedom and rapid convalescence, felt herself inexcusably happy and full of joyous life. The memory of her husband's unhappiness did not poison her pleasure. This memory in one way was too horrible to think of. In another, her husband's unhappiness was the cause of a happiness for her too great to allow regret. The memory of everything that had followed since her sickness, the reconciliation with her husband, the quarrel, Vronsky's wound, his sudden appearance, the preparations for the divorce, the flight from her husband's home, the separation from her son,—all this seemed like a delirious dream, from which she awoke and found herself abroad alone with Vronsky. The recollection of the injury which she had done her husband aroused in her a feeling akin to disgust, and like that which a drowning man might experience after having pushed away a person clinging to him. The other person was drowned. Of course, what had been done was evil, but it was the only possible salvation, and it was better not to return to those horrible memories.
One consoling argument in regard to her conduct occurred to her at the first moment of the rupture, and now, whenever she thought of all that had passed, she went over this argument.
"I have done my husband an irrevocable injury," she said to herself, "but at least I get no advantage from his misfortune. I also suffer and shall suffer. I give up all that was dearest to me; I give up my good name and my son. I have sinned, and therefore I do not desire happiness, do not desire a divorce, and I accept my shame and the separation from my son."
But, however sincere Anna was when she reasoned thus, she had not suffered. She had felt no shame. With that tact which both she and Vronsky possessed to perfection, they had avoided, while abroad, any meeting with Russian ladies, and they had never put them-
