her life she felt again resolute and irreproachable.
She recalled with wonder her state of mind on the previous day. “What
was it? Nothing. Vronsky said something silly, which it was easy to put a
stop to, and I answered as I ought to have done. To speak of it to my
husband would be unnecessary and out of the question. To speak of it would
be to attach importance to what has no importance.” She remembered how
she had told her husband of what was almost a declaration made her at
Petersburg by a young man, one of her husband’s subordinates, and how
Alexey Alexandrovitch had answered that every woman living in the world
was exposed to such incidents, but that he had the fullest confidence in her
tact, and could never lower her and himself by jealousy. “So then there’s no
reason to speak of it? And indeed, thank God, there’s nothing to speak of,”
she told herself.
Chapter 33
Alexey Alexandrovitch came back from the meeting of the ministers at
four o’clock, but as often happened, he had not time to come in to her. He
went into his study to see the people waiting for him with petitions, and to
sign some papers brought him by his chief secretary. At dinner time (there
were always a few people dining with the Karenins) there arrived an old
lady, a cousin of Alexey Alexandrovitch, the chief secretary of the
department and his wife, and a young man who had been recommended to
Alexey Alexandrovitch for the service. Anna went into the drawing-room to
receive these guests. Precisely at five o’clock, before the bronze Peter the
First clock had struck the fifth stroke, Alexey Alexandrovitch came in,
wearing a white tie and evening coat with two stars, as he had to go out
directly after dinner. Every minute of Alexey Alexandrovitch’s life was
portioned out and occupied. And to make time to get through all that lay
before him every day, he adhered to the strictest punctuality. “Unhasting
and unresting,” was his motto. He came into the dining hall, greeted
everyone, and hurriedly sat down, smiling to his wife.
“Yes, my solitude is over. You wouldn’t believe how uncomfortable” (he
laid stress on the word uncomfortable) “it is to dine alone.”
At dinner he talked a little to his wife about Moscow matters, and, with a
sarcastic smile, asked her after Stepan Arkadyevitch; but the conversation
was for the most part general, dealing with Petersburg official and public
news. After dinner he spent half an hour with his guests, and again, with a
smile, pressed his wife’s hand, withdrew, and drove off to the council. Anna
did not go out that evening either to the Princess Betsy Tverskaya, who,
hearing of her return, had invited her, nor to the theater, where she had a
box for that evening. She did not go out principally because the dress she
had reckoned upon was not ready. Altogether, Anna, on turning, after the
departure of her guests, to the consideration of her attire, was very much
annoyed. She was generally a mistress of the art of dressing well without
great expense, and before leaving Moscow she had given her dressmaker
three dresses to transform. The dresses had to be altered so that they could
not be recognized, and they ought to have been ready three days before. It
appeared that two dresses had not been done at all, while the other one had
not been altered as Anna had intended. The dressmaker came to explain,
declaring that it would be better as she had done it, and Anna was so furious
that she felt ashamed when she thought of it afterwards. To regain her
serenity completely she went into the nursery, and spent the whole evening
with her son, put him to bed herself, signed him with the cross, and tucked
him up. She was glad she had not gone out anywhere, and had spent the
evening so well. She felt so light-hearted and serene, she saw so clearly that
all that had seemed to her so important on her railway journey was only one
of the common trivial incidents of fashionable life, and that she had no
reason to feel ashamed before anyone else or before herself. Anna sat down
at the hearth with an English novel and waited for her husband. Exactly at
half-past nine she heard his ring, and he came into the room.
“Here you are at last!” she observed, holding out her hand to him.
He kissed her hand and sat down beside her.
“Altogether then, I see your visit was a success,” he said to her.
“Oh, yes,” she said, and she began telling him about everything from the
beginning: her journey with Countess Vronskaya, her arrival, the accident at
the station. Then she described the pity she had felt, first for her brother,
and afterwards for Dolly.
“I imagine one cannot exonerate such a man from blame, though he is
your brother,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch severely.
Anna smiled. She knew that he said that simply to show that family
considerations could not prevent him from expressing his genuine opinion.
She knew that characteristic in her husband, and liked it.
“I am glad it has all ended so satisfactorily, and that you are back again,”
he went on. “Come, what do they say about the new act I have got passed in
the council?”
Anna had heard nothing of this act, and she felt conscience-stricken at
having been able so readily to forget what was to him of such importance.
“Here, on the other hand, it has made a great sensation,” he said, with a
complacent smile.
She saw that Alexey Alexandrovitch wanted to tell her something
pleasant to him about it, and she brought him by questions to telling it. With
the same complacent smile he told her of the ovations he had received in
consequence of the act he had passed.
“I was very, very glad. It shows that at last a reasonable and steady view
of the matter is becoming prevalent among us.”
Having drunk his second cup of tea with cream, and bread, Alexey
Alexandrovitch got up, and was going towards his study.
“And you’ve not been anywhere this evening? You’ve been dull, I
expect?” he said.
“Oh, no!” she answered, getting up after him and accompanying him
across the room to his study. “What are you reading now?” she asked.
“Just now I’m reading Duc de Lille, Poésie des Enfers,” he answered. “A
very remarkable book.”
Anna smiled, as people smile at the weaknesses of those they love, and,
putting her hand under his, she escorted him to the door of the study. She
knew his habit, that had grown into a necessity, of reading in the evening.
She knew, too, that in spite of his official duties, which swallowed up
almost the whole of his time, he considered it his duty to keep up with
everything of note that appeared in the intellectual world. She knew, too,
that he was really interested in books dealing with politics, philosophy, and
theology, that art was utterly foreign to his nature; but, in spite of this, or
rather, in consequence of it, Alexey Alexandrovitch never passed over
anything in the world of art, but made it his duty to read everything. She
knew that in politics, in philosophy, in theology, Alexey Alexandrovitch
