LITMIR.BIZ

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so much the better for him,’ and Vronsky smiled. ‘Ah, you are here!’ he went on, turning toward his mother’s old footman who was standing by the door. ‘Come in here.’

      Besides liking Oblonsky, as everybody did, Vronsky latterly had felt still more drawn to him because he was connected in his mind with Kitty.

      ‘Well, are we to give a supper to the diva next Sunday?’ he asked smilingly, taking Oblonsky’s arm.

      ‘Certainly, I will collect subscriptions. I say, did you make the acquaintance of my friend Levin last night?’ asked Oblonsky.

      ‘Of course. Only he left very early.’

      ‘He is a splendid fellow,’ continued Oblonsky. ‘Don’t you think so?’

      ‘I don’t know how it is that all Muscovites, present company of course excepted,’ Vronsky put in jokingly, ‘are so abrupt. They are always standing on their hind legs getting angry, and seem to want to act on your feelings …’

      ‘Yes, there is some truth in that,’ said Oblonsky, laughing merrily.

      ‘Shall we have to wait much longer?’ asked Vronsky, turning to a porter.

      ‘The train is signalled,’ said the porter.

      The approach of the train was made more and more evident by the increasing bustle and preparation on the platform and the arrival of people who had come to meet the train. Through the frosty mist one could see workmen in sheepskin coats and felt boots crossing the curved railway lines, and hear the whistle of a locomotive and the noisy movements of a heavy mass.

      ‘No,’ said Oblonsky who was anxious to tell Vronsky about Levin’s intentions concerning Kitty, ‘no, you have not judged my Levin rightly. He is a very nervous man, and does make himself unpleasant sometimes, that’s true enough; but on the other hand he is sometimes very charming. His is such an honest, straightforward nature, and he has a heart of gold. But yesterday there were special reasons,’ continued Oblonsky with a significant smile, quite forgetting the sincere sympathy he had felt for his friend the day before, and now only feeling the same sympathy for Vronsky. ‘Yes, there was a reason why he had to be either specially happy or specially unhappy.’

      Vronsky stopped and asked him straight out: ‘What do you mean? Did he propose to your belle sœur [sister-in-law] last night?’

      ‘Perhaps,’ said Oblonsky. ‘I seemed to notice something of the kind yesterday. Oh yes, if he left early and was in a bad temper it must be that… . He has been in love with her so long, and I am very sorry for him.’

      ‘Dear me! … But I should think she may make a better match,’ said Vronsky, and expanding his chest he again moved forward. ‘However, I don’t know him,’ he added. ‘Yes, it is a painful position! That is why so many prefer women of the demi-monde. If you don’t succeed in that case it only shows that you have not enough money, but in this case one’s pride is in the balance. But here’s the train.’

      In fact the engine was already whistling in the distance, and a few moments later the platform shook as the train puffed in; the steam spread low in the frozen air, the connecting rods slowly and rhythmically pushed and pulled, the bent figure of the engine-driver, warmly wrapped up, was seen covered with hoar-frost. The engine with the tender behind it moved slowly into the station, gradually slowing down and making the platform tremble still more. Then came the luggage van in which a dog was whining, and at last the passenger coaches, oscillating before they stopped.

      The sprightly guard blew his whistle and jumped off while the train was still moving, and impatient passengers began to descend one after another: an officer of the guards, erect and looking sternly round, a fidgety little tradesman with a bag, a peasant with a sack over his shoulder… .

      Vronsky, as he stood by Oblonsky and watched these passengers coming out of the carriages, quite forgot about his mother. What he had just heard about Kitty excited and delighted him. His chest involuntarily expanded and his eyes shone, he felt himself to be a conqueror.

      ‘The Countess Vronsky is in that compartment,’ said the sprightly guard, addressing Vronsky.

      His words roused Vronsky from his reverie and reminded him of his mother and of the coming meeting.

      In the depths of his heart he did not respect his mother and (though this he never acknowledged to himself) did not love her, but in accordance with the views of the set he lived in, and as a result of his education, he could not imagine himself treating her in any way but one altogether submissive and respectful; the more submissive and respectful he was externally, the less he honoured and loved her in his heart.

      Chapter 18

      VRONSKY followed the guard to the carriage and had to stop at the entrance of the compartment to let a lady pass out.

      The trained insight of a Society man enabled Vronsky with a single glance to decide that she belonged to the best Society. He apologized for being in her way and was about to enter the carriage, but felt compelled to have another look at her, not because she was very beautiful nor because of the elegance and modest grace of her whole figure, but because he saw in her sweet face as she passed him something specially tender and kind. When he looked round she too turned her head. Her bright grey eyes which seemed dark because of their black lashes rested for a moment on his face as if recognizing him, and then turned to the passing crowd evidently in search of some one. In that short look Vronsky had time to notice the subdued animation that enlivened her face and seemed to flutter between her bright eyes and a scarcely perceptible smile which curved her rosy lips. It was as if an excess of vitality so filled her whole being that it betrayed itself against her will, now in her smile, now in the light of her eyes. She deliberately tried to extinguish that light in her eyes, but it shone in spite of her in her faint smile.

      Vronsky entered the carriage. His mother, a thin old woman with black eyes and curled hair, screwed up her eyes as she recognized her son and her thin lips smiled slightly. She rose from the seat, and giving her handbag to her maid held out her small dry hand to her son, then lifting his head which had been bent to kiss her hand kissed him on his face.

      ‘You had my telegram? You’re well? That’s a good thing.’

      ‘Have you had a good journey?’ asked her son, sitting down on the seat beside her and involuntarily listening to a woman’s voice outside the door. He knew it was the voice of the lady he had met as he entered the carriage.

      ‘All the same I don’t agree with you,’ the lady was saying.

      ‘Yours are Petersburg views, madam.’

      ‘Not at all, simply a woman’s views.’

      ‘Well, allow me to kiss your hand.’

      ‘Au revoir, Ivan Petrovich, and please if you see my brother send him to me,’ said the lady, closing the door and again entering the compartment.

      ‘Well, have you found your brother?’ asked Vronsky’s mother, addressing the lady.

      Vronsky understood now that this was Mrs. Karenina.

      ‘Your brother is here,’ he said rising. ‘Excuse my not recognizing you before. Our acquaintance was so slight,’ he said with a bow, ‘that I am sure you do not remember me.’

      ‘Oh yes, I should have recognized you, especially as I believe your mother and I have talked of nothing but you all the way,’ said she, at last allowing the animation she had been trying to suppress to reveal itself in a smile. ‘But my brother is not here yet.’

      ‘Go and call him, Alexis,’ said the old Countess.

      Vronsky went out on to the platform and shouted,

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