204 205
“Why, whatever hope can you have?” said Betsy, offended on be-
half of her friend. “Enendons nous....” But in her eyes there were
gleams of light that betrayed that she understood perfectly and pre-
cisely as he did what hope he might have.
“None whatever,” said Vronsky, laughing and showing his even
rows of teeth. “Excuse me,” he added, taking an opera glass out of her
hand, and proceeding to scrutinize, over her bare shoulder, the row of
boxes facing them. “I’m afraid I’m becoming ridiculous.”
He was very well aware that he ran no risk of being ridiculous in
the eyes of Betsy or any other fashionable people. He was very well
aware that in their eyes the position of an unsuccessful lover of a girl, or
of any woman free to marry, might be ridiculous. But the position of a
man pursuing a married woman, and, regardless of everything, staking
his life on drawing her into adultery, has something fine and grand
about it, and can never be ridiculous; and so it was with a proud and
gay smile under his mustaches that he lowered the opera glass and
looked at his cousin.
“But why was it you didn’t come to dinner?” she said, admiring him.
“I must tell you about that. I was busily employed, and doing what,
do you suppose? I’ll give you a hundred guesses, a thousand...you’d
never guess. I’ve been reconciling a husband with a man who’d in-
sulted his wife. Yes, really!”
“Well, did you succeed?”
“Almost.”
“You really must tell me about it,” she said, getting up. “Come to
me in the next entr’acte.”
“I can’t; I’m going to the French theater.”
“From Nilsson?” Betsy queried in horror, though she could not
herself have distinguished Nilsson’s voice from any chorus girl’s.
“Can’t help it. I’ve an appointment there, all to do with my mission
of peace.”
“ Blessed are the peacemakers; theirs is the kingdom of heaven,’”
said Betsy, vaguely recollecting she had heard some similar saying
from someone. “Very well, then, sit down, and tell me what it’s all
about.”
And she sat down again.