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went into her own room. “I want love, and there is none. So, then, all
is over.” She repeated the words she had said, “and it must be ended.”
“But how?” she asked herself, and she sat down in a low chair
before the looking glass.
Thoughts of where she would go now, whether to the aunt who
had brought her up, to Dolly, or simply alone abroad, and of what he
was doing now alone in his study; whether this was the final quarrel, or
whether reconciliation were still possible; and of what all her old friends
at Petersburg would say of her now; and of how Alexey Alexandrovitch
would look at it, and many other ideas of what would happen now after
this rupture, came into her head; but she did not give herself up to
them with all her heart. At the bottom of her heart was some obscure
idea that alone interested her, but she could not get clear sight of it.
Thinking once more of Alexey Alexandrovitch, she recalled the time of
her illness after her confinement, and the feeling which never left her
at that time. “Why didn’t I die?” and the words and the feeling of that
time came back to her. And all at once she knew what was in her soul.
Yes, it was that idea which alone solved all. “Yes, to die!... And the
shame and disgrace of Alexey Alexandrovitch and of Seryozha, and
my awful shame, it will all be saved by death. To die! and he will feel
remorse; will be sorry; will love me; he will suffer on my account.” With
the trace of a smile of commiseration for herself she sat down in the
armchair, taking off and putting on the rings on her left hand, vividly
picturing from different sides his feelings after her death.
Approaching footsteps—his steps—distracted her attention. As
though absorbed in the arrangement of her rings, she did not even turn
to him.
He went up to her, and taking her by the hand, said softly:
“Anna, we’ll go the day after tomorrow, if you like. I agree to every-
thing.”
She did not speak.
“What is it?” he urged.
“You know,” she said, and at the same instant, unable to restrain
herself any longer, she burst into sobs.
“Cast me off!” she articulated between her sobs. “I’ll go away
tomorrow...I’ll do more. What am I? An immoral woman! A stone
round your neck. I don’t want to make you wretched, I don’t want to!
I’ll set you free. You don’t love me; you love someone else!”
Vronsky besought her to be calm, and declared that there was no
trace of foundation for her jealousy; that he had never ceased, and
never would cease, to love her; that he loved her more than ever.
“Anna, why distress yourself and me so?” he said to her, kissing her
hands. There was tenderness now in his face, and she fancied she
caught the sound of tears in his voice, and she felt them wet on her
hand. And instantly Anna’s despairing jealousy changed to a despair-
ing passion of tenderness. She put her arms round him, and covered
with kisses his head, his neck, his hands.