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forth by my mistaken impression. In that case, I beg you to forgive me.
But if you are conscious yourself of even the smallest foundation for
them, then I beg you to think a little, and if your heart prompts you, to
speak out to me...”
Alexey Alexandrovitch was unconsciously saying something ut-
terly unlike what he had prepared.
“I have nothing to say. And besides,” she said hurriedly, with
difficulty repressing a smile, “it’s really time to be in bed.”
Alexey Alexandrovitch sighed, and, without saying more, went
into the bedroom.
When she came into the bedroom, he was already in bed. His lips
were sternly compressed, and his eyes looked away from her. Anna got
into her bed, and lay expecting every minute that he would begin to
speak to her again. She both feared his speaking and wished for it. But
he was silent. She waited for a long while without moving, and had
forgotten about him. She thought of that other; she pictured him, and
felt how her heart was flooded with emotion and guilty delight at the
thought of him. Suddenly she heard an even, tranquil snore. For the
first instant Alexey Alexandrovitch seemed, as it were, appalled at his
own snoring, and ceased; but after an interval of two breathings the
snore sounded again, with a new tranquil rhythm.
“It’s late, it’s late,” she whispered with a smile. A long while she lay,
not moving, with open eyes, whose brilliance she almost fancied she
could herself see in the darkness.
Chapter 10.
From that time a new life began for Alexey Alexandrovitch and for
his wife. Nothing special happened. Anna went out into society, as
she had always done, was particularly often at Princess Betsy’s, and
met Vronsky everywhere. Alexey Alexandrovitch saw this, but could
do nothing. All his efforts to draw her into open discussion she con-
fronted with a barrier which he could not penetrate, made up of a sort
of amused perplexity. Outwardly everything was the same, but their
inner relations were completely changed. Alexey Alexandrovitch, a
man of great power in the world of politics, felt himself helpless in this.
Like an ox with head bent, submissively he awaited the blow which he
felt was lifted over him. Every time he began to think about it, he felt
that he must try once more, that by kindness, tenderness, and persua-
sion there was still hope of saving her, of bringing her back to herself,
and every day he made ready to talk to her. But every time he began
talking to her, he felt that the spirit of evil and deceit, which had taken
possession of her, had possession of him too, and he talked to her in a
tone quite unlike that in which he had meant to talk. Involuntarily he
talked to her in his habitual tone of jeering at anyone who should say
what he was saying. And in that tone it was impossible to say what
needed to be said to her.