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pictured her invariably in lilac. But now seeing her in black, she felt
that she had not fully seen her charm. She saw her now as someone
quite new and surprising to her. Now she understood that Anna could
not have been in lilac, and that her charm was just that she always
stood out against her attire, that her dress could never be noticeable on
her. And her black dress, with its sumptuous lace, was not noticeable
on her; it was only the frame, and all that was seen was she—simple,
natural, elegant, and at the same time gay and eager.
She was standing holding herself, as always, very erect, and when
Kitty drew near the group she was speaking to the master of the house,
her head slightly turned towards him.
“No, I don’t throw stones,” she was saying, in answer to something,
“though I can’t understand it,” she went on, shrugging her shoulders,
and she turned at once with a soft smile of protection towards Kitty.
With a flying, feminine glance she scanned her attire, and made a
movement of her head, hardly perceptible, but understood by Kitty,
signifying approval of her dress and her looks. “You came into the
room dancing,” she added.
“This is one of my most faithful supporters,” said Korsunsky, bow-
ing to Anna Arkadyevna, whom he had not yet seen. “The princess
helps to make balls happy and successful. Anna Arkadyevna, a waltz?”
he said, bending down to her.
“Why, have yo met?” inquired their host.
“Is there anyone we have not met? My wife and I are like white
wolves—everyone knows us,” answered Korsunsky. “A waltz, Anna
Arkadyevna?”
“I don’t dance when it’s possible not to dance,” she said.
“But tonight it’s impossible,” answered Korsunsky.
At that instant Vronsky came up.
“Well, since it’s impossible tonight, let us start,” she said, not notic-
ing Vronsky’s bow, and she hastily put her hand on Korsunsky’s shoul-
der.
“What is she vexed with him about?” thought Kitty, discerning
that Anna had intentionally not responded to Vronsky’s bow. Vronsky
went up to Kitty reminding her of the first quadrille, and expressing his
regret that he had not seen her all this time. Kitty gazed in admiration
at Anna waltzing, and listened to him. She expected him to ask her for
a waltz, but he did not, and she glanced wonderingly at him. He
flushed slightly, and hurriedly asked her to waltz, but he had only just
put his arm round her waist and taken the first step when the music
suddenly stopped. Kitty looked into his face, which was so close to her
own, and long afterwards—for several years after—that look, full of
love, to which he made no response, cut her to the heart with an agony
of shame.
“Pardon! pardon! Waltz! waltz!” shouted Korsunsky from the other
side of the room, and seizing the first young lady he came across he
began dancing himself.