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Chapter 7.
Steps were heard at the door, and Princess Betsy, knowing it was
Madame Karenina, glanced at Vronsky. He was looking towards the
door, and his face wore a strange new expression. Joyfully, intently, and
at the same time timidly, he gazed at the approaching figure, and
slowly he rose to his feet. Anna walked into the drawing room. Hold-
ing herself extremely erect, as always, looking straight before her, and
moving with her swift, resolute, and light step, that distinguished her
from all other society women, she crossed the short space to her host-
ess, shook hands with her, smiled, and with the same smile looked
around at Vronsky. Vronsky bowed low and pushed a chair up for her.
She acknowledged this only by a slight nod, flushed a little, and
frowned. But immediately, while rapidly greeting her acquaintances,
and shaking the hands proffered to her, she addressed Princess Betsy:
“I have been at Countess Lidia’s, and meant to have come here
earlier, but I stayed on. Sir John was there. He’s very interesting.”
“Oh, that’s this missionary?”
“Yes; he told us about the life in India, most interesting things.”
The conversation, interrupted by her coming in, flickered up again
like the light of a lamp being blown out.
“Sir John! Yes, Sir John; I’ve seen him. He speaks well. The
Vlassieva girl’s quite in love with him.”
“And is it true the younger Vlassieva girl’s to marry Topov?”
“Yes, they say it’s quite a settled thing.”
“I wonder at the parents! They say it’s a marriage for love.”
“For love? What antediluvian notions you have! Can one talk of
love in these days?” said the ambassador’s wife.
“What’s to be done? It’s a foolish old fashion that’s kept up still,”
said Vronsky.
“So much the worse for those who keep up the fashion. The only
happy marriages I know are marriages of prudence.”
“Yes, but then how often the happiness of these prudent mar-
riages flies away like dust just because that passion turns up that they
have refused to recognize,” said Vronsky.
“But by marriages of prudence we mean those in which both par-
ties have sown their wild oats already. That’s like scarlatina—one has
to go through it and get it over.”
“Then they ought to find out how to vaccinate for love, like small-
pox.”
“I was in love in my young days with a deacon,” said the Princess
Myakaya. “I don’t know that it did me any good.”
“No; I imagine, joking apart, that to know love, one must make
mistakes and then correct them,” said Princess Betsy.
“Even after marriage?” aid the ambassador’s wife playfully.
“‘It’s never too late to mend.’” The attache repeated the English
proverb.
“Just so,” Betsy agreed; “one must make mistakes and correct them.
What do you think about it?” she turned to Anna, who, with a faintly
perceptible resolute smile on her lips, was listening in silence to the
conversation.
“I think,” said Anna, playing with the glove she had taken off, “I