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and so he decided to drive on, telling the coachman not to spare the
horses.
He reached Bryansky’s, spent five minutes there, and galloped
back. This rapid drive calmed him. All that was painful in his relations
with Anna, all the feeling of indefiniteness left by their conversation,
had slipped out of his mind. He was thinking now with pleasure and
excitement of the race, of his being anyhow, in time, and now and then
the thought of the blissful interview awaiting him that night flashed
across his imagination like a flaming light.
The excitement of the approaching race gained upon him as he
drove further and further into the atmosphere of the races, overtaking
carriages driving up from the summer villas or out of Petersburg.
At his quarters no one was left at home; all were at the races, and
his valet was looking out for him at the gate. While he was changing
his clothes, his valet told him that the second race had begun already,
that a lot of gentlemen had been to ask for him, and a boy had twice
run up from the stables. Dressing without hurry (he never hurried
himself, and never lost his self-possession), Vronsky drove to the sheds.
From the sheds he could see a perfect sea of carriages, and people on
foot, soldiers surrounding the race course, and pavilions swarming with
people. The second race was apparently going on, for just as he went
into the sheds he heard a bell ringing. Going towards the stable, he
met the white-legged chestnut, Mahotin’s Gladiator, being led to the
race-course in a blue forage horsecloth, with what looked like huge ears
edged with blue.
“Where’s Cord?” he asked the stable-boy.
“In the stable, putting on the saddle.”
In the open horse-box stood Frou-Frou, saddled ready. They were
just going to lead her out.
“I’m not too late?”
“All right! All right!” said the Englishman; “don’t upset yourself!”
Vronsky once more took in in one glance the exquisite lines of his
favorite mare; who was quivering all over, and with an effort he tore
himself from the sight of her, and went out of the stable. He went
towards the pavilions at the most favorable moment for escaping at-
tention. The mile-and-a-half race was just finishing, and all eyes were
fixed on the horse-guard in front and the light hussar behind, urging
their horses on with a last effort close to the winning post. From the
center and outside of the ring all were crowding to the winning post,
and a group of soldiers and officers of the horse-guards were shouting
loudly their delight at the expected triumph of their officer and com-
rade. Vronsky moved into the middle of the crowd unnoticed, almost at
the very moment when the bell rang at the finish of the race, and the
tall, mudspattered horse-guard who came in first, bending over the
saddle, let go the reins of his panting gray horse that looked dark with
sweat.
The horse, stiffening out its legs, with an effort stopped its rapid
course, and the officer of the horse-guards looked round him like a man
waking up from a heavy sleep, and just managed to smile. A crowd of
friends and outsiders pressed round him.
Vronsky intentionally avoided that select crowd of the upper world,
which was moving and talking with discreet freedom before the pavil-
ions. He knew that Madame Karenina was there, and Betsy, and his
brother’s wife, and he purposely did not go near them for fear of some-
thing distracting his attention. But he was continually met and stopped
by acquaintances, who told him about the previous races, and kept
asking him why he was so late.
At the time when the racers had to go to the pavilion to receive the