‘Don’t I see it, dear? I ought to know my gentry by now. I grew up among gentry from early on. Never mind, dear. As long as you’ve got your health and a clear conscience.’
Levin looked at her intently, surprised that she understood his thoughts.
‘Well, should I bring more tea?’ she said, and, taking the cup, she went out.
Laska kept thrusting her head under his hand. He patted her, and she curled up just at his feet, placing her head on a stretched-out hind leg. And as a sign that all was well and good now, she opened her mouth slightly, smacked her sticky lips, and, settling them better around her old teeth, lapsed into blissful peace. Levin watched these last movements attentively.
‘I’m just the same!’ he said to himself, ‘just the same! Never mind ... All is well.’
XXVIII
Early on the morning after the ball, Anna Arkadyevna sent her husband a telegram about her departure from Moscow that same day.
‘No, I must, I must go.’ She explained the change of her intentions to her sister-in-law in such a tone as if she had remembered countless things she had to do. ‘No, I’d better go today!’
Stepan Arkadyich did not dine at home, but promised to come at seven o‘clock to see his sister off.
Kitty also did not come, sending a note that she had a headache. Dolly and Anna dined alone with the children and the English governess. Because children are either inconstant or else very sensitive and could feel that Anna was different that day from when they had come to love her so, that she was no longer concerned with them - in any case they suddenly stopped playing with their aunt and loving her, and were quite unconcerned about her leaving. All morning Anna was busy with the preparations for the departure. She wrote notes to Moscow acquaintances, jotted down her accounts, and packed. Generally, it seemed to Dolly that she was not in calm spirits, but in that state of anxiety Dolly knew so well in herself, which comes not without reason and most often covers up displeasure with oneself. After dinner Anna went to her room to dress and Dolly followed her.
‘You’re so strange today!’ Dolly said to her.
‘I? You think so? I’m not strange, I’m bad. It happens with me. I keep wanting to weep. It’s very stupid, but it passes,’ Anna said quickly and bent her reddened face to the tiny bag into which she was packing a nightcap and some cambric handkerchiefs. Her eyes had a peculiar shine and kept filling with tears. ‘I was so reluctant to leave Petersburg, and now - to leave here.’
‘You came here and did a good deed,’ said Dolly, studying her intently.
Anna looked at her with eyes wet with tears.
‘Don’t say that, Dolly. I didn’t do anything and couldn’t do anything. I often wonder why people have all decided to spoil me. What have I done, and what could I have done? You found enough love in your heart to forgive ...’
‘Without you, God knows what would have happened! You’re so lucky, Anna!’ said Dolly. ‘Everything in your soul is clear and good.’
‘Each of us has his skeletons in his soul, as the English say.’
‘What skeletons do you have? Everything’s so clear with you.’
‘There are some,’ Anna said suddenly and, unexpectedly after her tears, a sly, humorous smile puckered her lips.
‘Well, then they’re funny, your skeletons, and not gloomy,’ Dolly said, smiling.
‘No, they’re gloomy. Do you know why I’m going today and not tomorrow? It’s a confession that has been weighing on me, and I want to make it to you,’ Anna said, resolutely sitting back in the armchair and looking straight into Dolly’s eyes.
And, to her surprise, Dolly saw Anna blush to the ears, to the curly black ringlets on her neck.
‘Yes,’ Anna went on. ‘Do you know why Kitty didn’t come for dinner? She’s jealous of me. I spoiled ... I was the reason that this ball was a torment for her and not a joy. But really, really, I’m not to blame, or only a little,’ she said, drawing out the word ‘little’ in a thin voice.
‘Ah, how like Stiva you said that!’ Dolly laughed.
Anna became offended.
‘Oh, no, no! I’m not like Stiva,’ she said, frowning. ‘I’m telling you this because I don’t allow myself to doubt myself even for a moment.’
But the moment she uttered these words, she felt that they were wrong; she not only doubted herself, but felt excitement at the thought of Vronsky, and was leaving sooner than she had wanted only so as not to meet him any more.
‘Yes, Stiva told me you danced the mazurka with him, and he ...’
‘You can’t imagine how funny it came out. I had only just thought of matchmaking them, and suddenly it was something quite different. Perhaps against my own will I ...’
She blushed and stopped.
‘Oh, they feel it at once!’ said Dolly.
‘But I’d be desperate if there were anything serious here on his part,’ Anna interrupted her. ‘And I’m sure it will all be forgotten, and Kitty will stop hating me.’
‘Anyhow, Anna, to tell you the truth, I don’t much want this marriage for Kitty. It’s better that it come to nothing, if he, Vronsky, could fall in love with you in one day.’
‘Ah, my God, that would be so stupid!’ said Anna, and again a deep blush of pleasure came to her face when she heard the thought that preoccupied her put into words. ‘And so I’m leaving, having made an enemy of Kitty, whom I came to love so. Ah, she’s such a dear! But you’ll set things right, Dolly? Yes?’
Dolly could hardly repress a smile. She loved Anna, but she enjoyed seeing that she, too, had weaknesses.
‘An enemy? That can’t be.’
‘I so wish you would all love me as I love you. And now I’ve come to love you still more,’ she said with tears in her eyes. ‘Ah, how stupid I am today!’
She dabbed her face with her handkerchief and began to dress.
Late, just before her departure, Stepan Arkadyich arrived, with a red and merry face, smelling of wine and cigars.
Anna’s emotion communicated itself to Dolly, and as she embraced her sister-in-law for the last time, she whispered:
‘Remember this, Anna: I will never forget what you did for me. And remember that I’ve loved and will always love you as my best friend!’
‘I don’t understand why,’ said Anna, kissing her and hiding her tears.
‘You’ve understood and understand me. Good-bye, my lovely!’
XXIX
‘Well, it’s all over, and thank God!’ was the first thought that came to Anna Arkadyevna when she had said good-bye for the last time to her brother, who stood blocking the way into the carriage until the third bell. She sat down in her plush seat beside Annushka and looked around in the semi-darkness of the sleeping car.40 ‘Thank God, tomorrow I’ll see Seryozha and Alexei Alexandrovich, and my good and usual life will go on as before.’
Still in the same preoccupied mood that she had been in all day, Anna settled herself with pleasure and precision for the journey; with her small, deft hands she unclasped her little red bag, took out a small pillow, put it on her knees, reclasped the bag, and, after neatly covering her legs, calmly leaned back. An ailing lady was already preparing to sleep. Two other ladies tried to address Anna, and a fat old woman, while covering her legs, made some observations about the heating. Anna said a few words in reply to the ladies, but, foreseeing no interesting conversation, asked Annushka to bring out a little lamp, attached it to the armrest of her seat, and took a paper-knife and an English novel from her handbag. At first she was unable to read. To begin with she was bothered by the bustle and movement; then, when the train started moving, she could not help listening to the noises; then the snow that beat against the left-hand window and stuck to the glass, and the sight of a conductor passing by, all bundled up and covered with snow on one side, and the talk about the terrible blizzard outside, distracted her attention. Further on it was all the same; the same jolting and knocking, the same snow on the window, the same quick transitions from steaming heat to cold and back to heat, the same flashing of the same faces in the semi-darkness, and the same voices, and Anna began to read and understand what she was reading. Annushka was already dozing, holding the little red bag on her knees with her broad hands in their gloves, one of which was torn. Anna Arkadyevna read and understood, but it was unpleasant for her to read, that is, to follow the reflection of other people’s lives. She wanted too much to live herself. When she read about the heroine of the novel taking care of a sick man, she wanted to walk with inaudible steps round the sick man’s room; when she read about a Member of Parliament making a speech, she wanted to make that speech; when she read about how Lady Mary rode to hounds, teasing her sister-in-law and surprising everyone with her courage, she wanted to do it herself. But there was nothing to do, and so, fingering the smooth knife with her small hands, she forced herself to read.