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she arrived, he did not meet her. She was told that he had not yet gone
out, but was busy with his secretary. She sent word to her husband
that she had come, went to her own room, and occupied herself in
sorting out her things, expecting he would come to her. But an hour
passed; he did not come. She went into the dining room on the pretext
of giving some directions, and spoke loudly on purpose, expecting him
to come out there; but he did not come, though she heard him go to the
door of his study as he parted from the chief secretary. She knew that
he usually went out quickly to his office, and she wanted to see him
before that, so that their attitude to one another might be defined.
She walked across the drawing room and went resolutely to him.
When she went into his study he was in official uniform, obviously
ready to go out, sitting at a little table on which he rested his elbows,
looking dejectedly before him. She saw him before he saw her, and she
saw that he was thinking of her.
On seeing her, he would have risen, but changed his mind, then his
face flushed hotly—a thing Anna had never seen before, and he got
up quickly and went to meet her, looking not at her eyes, but above
them at her forehead and hair. He went up to her, took her by the
hand, and asked her to sit down.
“I am very glad you have come,” he said, sitting down beside her,
and obviously wishing to say something, he stuttered. Several times he
tried to begin to speak, but stopped. In spite of the fact that, preparing
herself for meeting him, she had schooled herself to despise and re-
proach him, she did not know what to say to him, and she felt sorry for
him. And so the silence lasted for some time. “Is Seryozha quite well?”
he said, and not waiting for an answer, he added: “I shan’t be dining at
home today, and I have got to go out directly.”
“I had thought of going to Moscow,” she said.
“No, you did quite, quite right to come,” he said, and was silent
again.
Seeing that he was powerless to begin the conversation, she began
herself.
“Alexey Alexandrovitch,” she said, looking at him and not drop-
ping her eyes under his persistent gaze at her hair, “I’m a guilty woman,
I’m a bad woman, but I am the same as I was, as I told you then, and I
have come to tell you that I can change nothing.”
“I have asked you no question about that,” he said, all at once,
resolutely and with hatred looking her straight in the face; “that was as
I had supposed.” Under the influence of anger he apparently regained
complete possession of all his faculties. “But as I told you then, and
have written to you,” he said in a thin, shrill voice, “I repeat now, that I
am not bound to know this. I ignore it. Not all wives are so kind as you,
to be in such a hurry to communicate such agreeable news to their
husbands.” He laid special emphasis on the word “agreeable.” “I shall
ignore it so long as the world knows nothing of it, so long as my name is
not disgraced. And so I simply inform you that our relations must be
just as they have always been, and that only in the event of your
compromising me I shall be obliged to take steps to secure my honor.”
“But our relations cannot be the same as always,” Anna began in a
timid voice, looking at him with dismay.
When she saw once more those composed gestures, heard that
shrill, childish, and sarcastic voice, her aversion for him extinguished
her pity for him, and she felt only afraid, but at all costs she wanted to
make clear her position.
“I cannot be your wife while I...” she began.
He laughed a cold and malignant laugh.
“The manner of life you have chosen is reflected, I suppose, in your