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The conversation Vassenka had started with Kitty was running on
the same lines as on the previous evening, discussing Anna, and whether
love is to be put higher than worldly considerations. Kitty disliked the
conversation, and she was disturbed both by the subject and the tone
in which it was conducted, and also by the knowledge of the effect it
would have on her husband. But she was too simple and innocent to
know how to cut short this conversation, or even to conceal the super-
ficial pleasure afforded her by the young man’s very obvious admira-
tion. She wanted to stop it, but she did not know what to do. What-
ever she did she knew would be observed by her husband, and the
worst interpretation put on it. And, in fact, when she asked Dolly what
was wrong with Masha, and Vassenka, waiting till this uninteresting
conversation was over, began to gaze indifferently at Dolly, the ques-
tion struck Levin as an unnatural and disgusting piece of hypocrisy.
“What do you say, shall we go and look for mushrooms today?” said
Dolly.
“By all means, please, and I shall come too,” said Kitty, and she
blushed. She wanted from politeness to ask Vassenka whether he
would come, and she did not ask him. “Where are you going, Kostya?”
she asked her husband with a guilty face, as he passed by her with a
resolute step. This guilty air confirmed all his suspicions.
“The mechanician came when I was away; I haven’t seen him yet,”
he said, not looking at her.
He went downstairs, but before he had time to leave his study he
heard his wife’s familiar footsteps running with reckless speed to him.
“What do you want?” he said to her shortly. “We are busy.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said to the German mechanician; “I want
a few words with my husband.”
The German would have left the room, but Levin said to him:
“Don’t disturb yourself.”
“The train is at three?” queried the German. “I mustn’t be late.”
Levin did not answer him, but walked out himself with his wife.
“Well, what have you to say to me?” he said to her in French.
He did not look her in the face, and did not care to see that she in
her condition was trembling all over, and had a piteous, crushed look.
“I...I want to say that we can’t go on like this; that this is misery...”
she said.
“The servants are here at the sideboard,” he said angrily; “don’t
make a scene.”
“Well, let’s go in here!”
They were standing in the passage. Kitty would have gone into
the next room, but there the English governess was giving Tanya a
lesson.
“Well, come into the garden.”
In the garden they came upon a peasant weeding the path. And
no longer considering that the peasant could see her tear-stained and
his agitated face, that they looked like people fleeing from some disas-
ter, they went on with rapid steps, feeling that they must speak out and
clear up misunderstandings, must be alone together, and so get rid of
the misery they were both feeling.
“We can’t go on like this! It’s misery! I am wretched; you are
wretched. What for?” she said, when they had at last reached a solitary
garden seat at a turn in the lime tree avenue.
“But tell me one thing: was there in his tone anything unseemly,
not nice, humiliatingly horrible?” he said, standing before her again in
the same position with his clenched fists on his chest, as he had stood
before her that night.
“Yes,” she said in a shaking voice; “but, Kostya, surely you see I’m