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Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, Part 5. Chapter 33.

Part 5. Chapter 33.

Vronsky for the first time experienced a feeling of anger against Anna, almost a hatred for her willfully refusing to understand her own position. This feeling was aggravated by his being unable to tell her plainly the cause of his anger. If he had told her directly what he was thinking, he would have said:

"In that dress, with a princess only too well known to everyone, to show yourself at the theater is equivalent not merely to acknowledging your position as a fallen woman, but is flinging down a challenge to society, that is to say, cutting yourself off from it forever." He could not say that to her. "But how can she fail to see it, and what is going on in her?" he said to himself. He felt at the same time that his respect for her was diminished while his sense of her beauty was intensified.

He went back scowling to his rooms, and sitting down beside Yashvin, who, with his long legs stretched out on a chair, was drinking brandy and seltzer water, he ordered a glass of the same for himself.

"You were talking of Lankovsky's Powerful. That's a fine horse, and I would advise you to buy him," said Yashvin, glancing at his comrade's gloomy face. "His hind-quarters aren't quite first-rate, but the legs and head—one couldn't wish for anything better." "I think I will take him," answered Vronsky. Their conversation about horses interested him, but he did not for an instant forget Anna, and could not help listening to the sound of steps in the corridor and looking at the clock on the chimney piece.

"Anna Arkadyevna gave orders to announce that she has gone to the theater." Yashvin, tipping another glass of brandy into the bubbling water, drank it and got up, buttoning his coat.

"Well, let's go," he said, faintly smiling under his mustache, and showing by this smile that he knew the cause of Vronsky's gloominess, and did not attach any significance to it. "I'm not going," Vronsky answered gloomily. "Well, I must, I promised to. Good-bye, then. If you do, come to the stalls; you can take Kruzin's stall," added Yashvin as he went out. "No, I'm busy." "A wife is a care, but it's worse when she's not a wife," thought Yashvin, as he walked out of the hotel. Vronsky, left alone, got up from his chair and began pacing up and down the room.

"And what's today? The fourth night…. Yegor and his wife are there, and my mother, most likely. Of course all Petersburg's there. Now she's gone in, taken off her cloak and come into the light. Tushkevitch, Yashvin, Princess Varvara," he pictured them to himself…. "What about me? Either that I'm frightened or have given up to Tushkevitch the right to protect her? From every point of view—stupid, stupid!… And why is she putting me in such a position?" he said with a gesture of despair.

With that gesture he knocked against the table, on which there was standing the seltzer water and the decanter of brandy, and almost upset it. He tried to catch it, let it slip, and angrily kicked the table over and rang.

"If you care to be in my service," he said to the valet who came in, "you had better remember your duties. This shouldn't be here. You ought to have cleared away." The valet, conscious of his own innocence, would have defended himself, but glancing at his master, he saw from his face that the only thing to do was to be silent, and hurriedly threading his way in and out, dropped down on the carpet and began gathering up the whole and broken glasses and bottles.

"That's not your duty; send the waiter to clear away, and get my dress coat out." Vronsky went into the theater at half-past eight. The performance was in full swing. The little old box-keeper, recognizing Vronsky as he helped him off with his fur coat, called him "Your Excellency," and suggested he should not take a number but should simply call Fyodor. In the brightly lighted corridor there was no one but the box-opener and two attendants with fur cloaks on their arms listening at the doors. Through the closed doors came the sounds of the discreet staccato accompaniment of the orchestra, and a single female voice rendering distinctly a musical phrase. The door opened to let the box-opener slip through, and the phrase drawing to the end reached Vronsky's hearing clearly. But the doors were closed again at once, and Vronsky did not hear the end of the phrase and the cadence of the accompaniment, though he knew from the thunder of applause that it was over. When he entered the hall, brilliantly lighted with chandeliers and gas jets, the noise was still going on. On the stage the singer, bowing and smiling, with bare shoulders flashing with diamonds, was, with the help of the tenor who had given her his arm, gathering up the bouquets that were flying awkwardly over the footlights. Then she went up to a gentleman with glossy pomaded hair parted down the center, who was stretching across the footlights holding out something to her, and all the public in the stalls as well as in the boxes was in excitement, craning forward, shouting and clapping. The conductor in his high chair assisted in passing the offering, and straightened his white tie. Vronsky walked into the middle of the stalls, and, standing still, began looking about him. That day less than ever was his attention turned upon the familiar, habitual surroundings, the stage, the noise, all the familiar, uninteresting, particolored herd of spectators in the packed theater.

There were, as always, the same ladies of some sort with officers of some sort in the back of the boxes; the same gaily dressed women—God knows who—and uniforms and black coats; the same dirty crowd in the upper gallery; and among the crowd, in the boxes and in the front rows, were some forty of the real people. And to those oases Vronsky at once directed his attention, and with them he entered at once into relation.

The act was over when he went in, and so he did not go straight to his brother's box, but going up to the first row of stalls stopped at the footlights with Serpuhovskoy, who, standing with one knee raised and his heel on the footlights, caught sight of him in the distance and beckoned to him, smiling. Vronsky had not yet seen Anna. He purposely avoided looking in her direction. But he knew by the direction of people's eyes where she was. He looked round discreetly, but he was not seeking her; expecting the worst, his eyes sought for Alexey Alexandrovitch. To his relief Alexey Alexandrovitch was not in the theater that evening.

"How little of the military man there is left in you!" Serpuhovskoy was saying to him. "A diplomat, an artist, something of that sort, one would say." "Yes, it was like going back home when I put on a black coat," answered Vronsky, smiling and slowly taking out his opera glass. "Well, I'll own I envy you there. When I come back from abroad and put on this," he touched his epaulets, "I regret my freedom." Serpuhovskoy had long given up all hope of Vronsky's career, but he liked him as before, and was now particularly cordial to him. "What a pity you were not in time for the first act!" Vronsky, listening with one ear, moved his opera glass from the stalls and scanned the boxes. Near a lady in a turban and a bald old man, who seemed to wave angrily in the moving opera glass, Vronsky suddenly caught sight of Anna's head, proud, strikingly beautiful, and smiling in the frame of lace. She was in the fifth box, twenty paces from him. She was sitting in front, and slightly turning, was saying something to Yashvin. The setting of her head on her handsome, broad shoulders, and the restrained excitement and brilliance of her eyes and her whole face reminded him of her just as he had seen her at the ball in Moscow. But he felt utterly different towards her beauty now. In his feeling for her now there was no element of mystery, and so her beauty, though it attracted him even more intensely than before, gave him now a sense of injury. She was not looking in his direction, but Vronsky felt that she had seen him already.

When Vronsky turned the opera glass again in that direction, he noticed that Princess Varvara was particularly red, and kept laughing unnaturally and looking round at the next box. Anna, folding her fan and tapping it on the red velvet, was gazing away and did not see, and obviously did not wish to see, what was taking place in the next box. Yashvin's face wore the expression which was common when he was losing at cards. Scowling, he sucked the left end of his mustache further and further into his mouth, and cast sidelong glances at the next box.

In that box on the left were the Kartasovs. Vronsky knew them, and knew that Anna was acquainted with them. Madame Kartasova, a thin little woman, was standing up in her box, and, her back turned upon Anna, she was putting on a mantle that her husband was holding for her. Her face was pale and angry, and she was talking excitedly. Kartasov, a fat, bald man, was continually looking round at Anna, while he attempted to soothe his wife. When the wife had gone out, the husband lingered a long while, and tried to catch Anna's eye, obviously anxious to bow to her. But Anna, with unmistakable intention, avoided noticing him, and talked to Yashvin, whose cropped head was bent down to her. Kartasov went out without making his salutation, and the box was left empty.

Vronsky could not understand exactly what had passed between the Kartasovs and Anna, but he saw that something humiliating for Anna had happened. He knew this both from what he had seen, and most of all from the face of Anna, who, he could see, was taxing every nerve to carry through the part she had taken up. And in maintaining this attitude of external composure she was completely successful. Anyone who did not know her and her circle, who had not heard all the utterances of the women expressive of commiseration, indignation, and amazement, that she should show herself in society, and show herself so conspicuously with her lace and her beauty, would have admired the serenity and loveliness of this woman without a suspicion that she was undergoing the sensations of a man in the stocks.

Knowing that something had happened, but not knowing precisely what, Vronsky felt a thrill of agonizing anxiety, and hoping to find out something, he went towards his brother's box. Purposely choosing the way round furthest from Anna's box, he jostled as he came out against the colonel of his old regiment talking to two acquaintances. Vronsky heard the name of Madame Karenina, and noticed how the colonel hastened to address Vronsky loudly by name, with a meaning glance at his companions.

"Ah, Vronsky! When are you coming to the regiment? We can't let you off without a supper. You're one of the old set," said the colonel of his regiment. "I can't stop, awfully sorry, another time," said Vronsky, and he ran upstairs towards his brother's box. The old countess, Vronsky's mother, with her steel-gray curls, was in his brother's box. Varya with the young Princess Sorokina met him in the corridor.

Leaving the Princess Sorokina with her mother, Varya held out her hand to her brother-in-law, and began immediately to speak of what interested him. She was more excited than he had ever seen her.

"I think it's mean and hateful, and Madame Kartasova had no right to do it. Madame Karenina…" she began. "But what is it? I don't know." "What? you've not heard?" "You know I should be the last person to hear of it." "There isn't a more spiteful creature than that Madame Kartasova!" "But what did she do?" "My husband told me…. She has insulted Madame Karenina. Her husband began talking to her across the box, and Madame Kartasova made a scene. She said something aloud, he says, something insulting, and went away." "Count, your maman is asking for you," said the young Princess Sorokina, peeping out of the door of the box. "I've been expecting you all the while," said his mother, smiling sarcastically. "You were nowhere to be seen." Her son saw that she could not suppress a smile of delight.

"Good evening, maman. I have come to you," he said coldly. "Why aren't you going to faire la cour à Madame Karenina ?" she went on, when Princess Sorokina had moved away. " Elle fait sensation. On oublie la Patti pour elle ." "Maman, I have asked you not to say anything to me of that," he answered, scowling. "I'm only saying what everyone's saying." Vronsky made no reply, and saying a few words to Princess Sorokina, he went away. At the door he met his brother.

"Ah, Alexey!" said his brother. "How disgusting! Idiot of a woman, nothing else…. I wanted to go straight to her. Let's go together." Vronsky did not hear him. With rapid steps he went downstairs; he felt that he must do something, but he did not know what. Anger with her for having put herself and him in such a false position, together with pity for her suffering, filled his heart. He went down, and made straight for Anna's box. At her box stood Stremov, talking to her.

"There are no more tenors. Le moule en est brisé! " Vronsky bowed to her and stopped to greet Stremov.

"You came in late, I think, and have missed the best song," Anna said to Vronsky, glancing ironically, he thought, at him. "I am a poor judge of music," he said, looking sternly at her. "Like Prince Yashvin," she said smiling, "who considers that Patti sings too loud." "Thank you," she said, her little hand in its long glove taking the playbill Vronsky picked up, and suddenly at that instant her lovely face quivered. She got up and went into the interior of the box.

Noticing in the next act that her box was empty, Vronsky, rousing indignant "hushes" in the silent audience, went out in the middle of a solo and drove home. Anna was already at home. When Vronsky went up to her, she was in the same dress as she had worn at the theater. She was sitting in the first armchair against the wall, looking straight before her. She looked at him, and at once resumed her former position.

"Anna," he said. "You, you are to blame for everything!" she cried, with tears of despair and hatred in her voice, getting up.

"I begged, I implored you not to go, I knew it would be unpleasant…." "Unpleasant!" she cried—"hideous! As long as I live I shall never forget it. She said it was a disgrace to sit beside me." "A silly woman's chatter," he said: "but why risk it, why provoke?…" "I hate your calm. You ought not to have brought me to this. If you had loved me…" "Anna! How does the question of my love come in?" "Oh, if you loved me, as I love, if you were tortured as I am!…" she said, looking at him with an expression of terror. He was sorry for her, and angry notwithstanding. He assured her of his love because he saw that this was the only means of soothing her, and he did not reproach her in words, but in his heart he reproached her.

And the asseverations of his love, which seemed to him so vulgar that he was ashamed to utter them, she drank in eagerly, and gradually became calmer. The next day, completely reconciled, they left for the country.

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Part 5. Chapter 33.

Vronsky for the first time experienced a feeling of anger against Anna, almost a hatred for her willfully refusing to understand her own position. Vronsky éprouva pour la première fois un sentiment de colère contre Anna, presque une haine pour elle refusant volontairement de comprendre sa propre position. Vronsky pirmą kartą išgyveno pykčio jausmą prieš Aną, beveik neapykantą jai sąmoningai atsisakius suprasti savo pačios poziciją. This feeling was aggravated by his being unable to tell her plainly the cause of his anger. Šį jausmą sustiprino tai, kad jis negalėjo aiškiai pasakyti jai savo pykčio priežasties. If he had told her directly what he was thinking, he would have said:

"In that dress, with a princess only too well known to everyone, to show yourself at the theater is equivalent not merely to acknowledging your position as a fallen woman, but is flinging down a challenge to society, that is to say, cutting yourself off from it forever." «Dans cette robe, avec une princesse trop connue de tous, se montrer au théâtre équivaut non seulement à reconnaître sa position de femme déchue, mais c'est lancer un défi à la société, c'est-à-dire se couper. loin de là pour toujours. " He could not say that to her. "But how can she fail to see it, and what is going on in her?" "Mais comment peut-elle ne pas le voir, et que se passe-t-il en elle?" - Bet kaip ji gali to nematyti ir kas joje vyksta? he said to himself. He felt at the same time that his respect for her was diminished while his sense of her beauty was intensified.

He went back scowling to his rooms, and sitting down beside Yashvin, who, with his long legs stretched out on a chair, was drinking brandy and seltzer water, he ordered a glass of the same for himself.

"You were talking of Lankovsky's Powerful. «Vous parliez de Powerful de Lankovsky. That's a fine horse, and I would advise you to buy him," said Yashvin, glancing at his comrade's gloomy face. "His hind-quarters aren't quite first-rate, but the legs and head—one couldn't wish for anything better." "Ses postérieurs ne sont pas tout à fait de premier ordre, mais les jambes et la tête - on ne pouvait rien souhaiter de mieux." - Jo užpakaliniai ketvirčiai nėra gana aukščiausio lygio, tačiau kojos ir galva - nieko geresnio norėti negalima. "I think I will take him," answered Vronsky. Their conversation about horses interested him, but he did not for an instant forget Anna, and could not help listening to the sound of steps in the corridor and looking at the clock on the chimney piece.

"Anna Arkadyevna gave orders to announce that she has gone to the theater." "Anna Arkadyevna a donné l'ordre d'annoncer qu'elle était allée au théâtre." - Anna Arkadjevna davė nurodymus pranešti, kad ji nuėjo į teatrą. Yashvin, tipping another glass of brandy into the bubbling water, drank it and got up, buttoning his coat. Yashvin, versant un autre verre de cognac dans l'eau bouillonnante, le but et se leva, boutonnant son manteau.

"Well, let's go," he said, faintly smiling under his mustache, and showing by this smile that he knew the cause of Vronsky's gloominess, and did not attach any significance to it. "I'm not going," Vronsky answered gloomily. "Well, I must, I promised to. Good-bye, then. If you do, come to the stalls; you can take Kruzin's stall," added Yashvin as he went out. Si vous le faites, venez aux étals; vous pouvez prendre le stand de Kruzin », ajouta Yashvin en sortant. "No, I'm busy." "A wife is a care, but it's worse when she's not a wife," thought Yashvin, as he walked out of the hotel. "Une femme est un souci, mais c'est pire quand elle n'est pas une femme", pensa Yashvin en sortant de l'hôtel. „Žmona yra globa, bet blogiau, kai ji nėra žmona“, - pagalvojo Yashvinas eidamas iš viešbučio. Vronsky, left alone, got up from his chair and began pacing up and down the room.

"And what's today? The fourth night…. Yegor and his wife are there, and my mother, most likely. Yegor et sa femme sont là, et ma mère, très probablement. Of course all Petersburg's there. Now she's gone in, taken off her cloak and come into the light. Maintenant, elle est entrée, a enlevé sa cape et est entrée dans la lumière. Tushkevitch, Yashvin, Princess Varvara," he pictured them to himself…. Tuškevičius, Jašvinas, princesė Varvara ", - jis juos įsivaizdavo sau ... "What about me? Either that I'm frightened or have given up to Tushkevitch the right to protect her? From every point of view—stupid, stupid!… And why is she putting me in such a position?" he said with a gesture of despair.

With that gesture he knocked against the table, on which there was standing the seltzer water and the decanter of brandy, and almost upset it. He tried to catch it, let it slip, and angrily kicked the table over and rang. Il essaya de l'attraper, le laissa filer, donna un coup de pied furieux sur la table et sonna.

"If you care to be in my service," he said to the valet who came in, "you had better remember your duties. «Si vous voulez être à mon service, dit-il au valet qui entra, vous feriez mieux de vous souvenir de vos devoirs. This shouldn't be here. You ought to have cleared away." The valet, conscious of his own innocence, would have defended himself, but glancing at his master, he saw from his face that the only thing to do was to be silent, and hurriedly threading his way in and out, dropped down on the carpet and began gathering up the whole and broken glasses and bottles. Le valet, conscient de sa propre innocence, se serait défendu, mais jetant un coup d'œil à son maître, il a vu de son visage que la seule chose à faire était de se taire, et se faufilant à la hâte, se faufilait sur le tapis. et a commencé à rassembler les verres et les bouteilles entiers et cassés.

"That's not your duty; send the waiter to clear away, and get my dress coat out." "Ce n'est pas votre devoir; envoyez le serveur partir, et sortez mon manteau." - Tai nėra jūsų pareiga; nusiųskite padavėją išsivalyti ir išsitraukti mano suknelę. Vronsky went into the theater at half-past eight. The performance was in full swing. La performance battait son plein. The little old box-keeper, recognizing Vronsky as he helped him off with his fur coat, called him "Your Excellency," and suggested he should not take a number but should simply call Fyodor. Le petit vieux gardien, reconnaissant Vronsky comme il l'aidait avec son manteau de fourrure, l'appela «Votre Excellence» et lui suggéra de ne pas prendre de numéro mais d'appeler simplement Fyodor. In the brightly lighted corridor there was no one but the box-opener and two attendants with fur cloaks on their arms listening at the doors. Dans le couloir bien éclairé, il n'y avait personne d'autre que l'ouvre-boîte et deux préposés avec des manteaux de fourrure sur les bras écoutant aux portes. Ryškiai apšviestame koridoriuje prie durų klausėsi ne kas kitas, o durų atidarytojas ir du palydovai su kailiniais apsiaustais ant rankų. Through the closed doors came the sounds of the discreet staccato accompaniment of the orchestra, and a single female voice rendering distinctly a musical phrase. The door opened to let the box-opener slip through, and the phrase drawing to the end reached Vronsky's hearing clearly. La porte s'ouvrit pour laisser passer l'ouvre-boîte, et la phrase tirant jusqu'à la fin atteignit clairement l'audition de Vronsky. But the doors were closed again at once, and Vronsky did not hear the end of the phrase and the cadence of the accompaniment, though he knew from the thunder of applause that it was over. When he entered the hall, brilliantly lighted with chandeliers and gas jets, the noise was still going on. On the stage the singer, bowing and smiling, with bare shoulders flashing with diamonds, was, with the help of the tenor who had given her his arm, gathering up the bouquets that were flying awkwardly over the footlights. Sur la scène, la chanteuse, s'inclinant et souriante, les épaules nues luisantes de diamants, était, avec l'aide du ténor qui lui avait tendu le bras, ramasser les bouquets qui volaient maladroitement au-dessus des feux de marche. Scenoje dainininkė, nusilenkusi ir šypsodamasi, plikais, deimantais blykstelėjusiais pečiais, padėjo ranką padavęs tenoras ir rinko puokštes, kurios nepatogiai skriejo virš žibintų. Then she went up to a gentleman with glossy pomaded hair parted down the center, who was stretching across the footlights holding out something to her, and all the public in the stalls as well as in the boxes was in excitement, craning forward, shouting and clapping. Puis elle est allée vers un homme aux cheveux pommadés brillants séparés au centre, qui s'étirait à travers les feux de pied en lui tendant quelque chose, et tout le public dans les stalles ainsi que dans les boîtes était excité, se penchant en avant, criant et applaudissements. The conductor in his high chair assisted in passing the offering, and straightened his white tie. Le conducteur dans sa chaise haute a aidé à faire l'offrande et a redressé sa cravate blanche. Vronsky walked into the middle of the stalls, and, standing still, began looking about him. That day less than ever was his attention turned upon the familiar, habitual surroundings, the stage, the noise, all the familiar, uninteresting, particolored herd of spectators in the packed theater. Ce jour-là, moins que jamais, son attention était tournée vers l'environnement familier et habituel, la scène, le bruit, tout le troupeau familier, inintéressant et coloré de spectateurs dans le théâtre bondé.

There were, as always, the same ladies of some sort with officers of some sort in the back of the boxes; the same gaily dressed women—God knows who—and uniforms and black coats; the same dirty crowd in the upper gallery; and among the crowd, in the boxes and in the front rows, were some forty of the real people. And to those oases Vronsky at once directed his attention, and with them he entered at once into relation.

The act was over when he went in, and so he did not go straight to his brother's box, but going up to the first row of stalls stopped at the footlights with Serpuhovskoy, who, standing with one knee raised and his heel on the footlights, caught sight of him in the distance and beckoned to him, smiling. L'acte était terminé quand il est entré, et il n'est donc pas allé directement à la loge de son frère, mais en montant à la première rangée de stalles s'est arrêté aux feux de la rampe avec Serpuhovskoy, qui, debout avec un genou levé et son talon aux feux , l'aperçut au loin et lui fit signe en souriant. Vronsky had not yet seen Anna. He purposely avoided looking in her direction. But he knew by the direction of people's eyes where she was. He looked round discreetly, but he was not seeking her; expecting the worst, his eyes sought for Alexey Alexandrovitch. To his relief Alexey Alexandrovitch was not in the theater that evening.

"How little of the military man there is left in you!" "Comme il vous reste peu de militaire!" - Kaip mažai tavyje liko kariškio! Serpuhovskoy was saying to him. "A diplomat, an artist, something of that sort, one would say." "Yes, it was like going back home when I put on a black coat," answered Vronsky, smiling and slowly taking out his opera glass. "Well, I'll own I envy you there. When I come back from abroad and put on this," he touched his epaulets, "I regret my freedom." Quand je reviens de l'étranger et que je mets ça, "il toucha ses épaulettes," je regrette ma liberté. " Serpuhovskoy had long given up all hope of Vronsky's career, but he liked him as before, and was now particularly cordial to him. "What a pity you were not in time for the first act!" Vronsky, listening with one ear, moved his opera glass from the stalls and scanned the boxes. Near a lady in a turban and a bald old man, who seemed to wave angrily in the moving opera glass, Vronsky suddenly caught sight of Anna's head, proud, strikingly beautiful, and smiling in the frame of lace. Près d'une dame en turban et d'un vieillard chauve, qui semblaient agiter avec colère dans le verre d'opéra en mouvement, Vronsky aperçut soudain la tête d'Anna, fière, d'une beauté saisissante et souriante dans le cadre de la dentelle. She was in the fifth box, twenty paces from him. She was sitting in front, and slightly turning, was saying something to Yashvin. The setting of her head on her handsome, broad shoulders, and the restrained excitement and brilliance of her eyes and her whole face reminded him of her just as he had seen her at the ball in Moscow. La pose de sa tête sur ses belles et larges épaules, l'excitation et l'éclat retenus de ses yeux et de son visage tout entier lui rappelaient d'elle comme il l'avait vue au bal de Moscou. But he felt utterly different towards her beauty now. In his feeling for her now there was no element of mystery, and so her beauty, though it attracted him even more intensely than before, gave him now a sense of injury. Dans son sentiment pour elle maintenant, il n'y avait aucun élément de mystère, et donc sa beauté, bien qu'elle l'attirait encore plus intensément qu'auparavant, lui donnait maintenant un sentiment de blessure. She was not looking in his direction, but Vronsky felt that she had seen him already.

When Vronsky turned the opera glass again in that direction, he noticed that Princess Varvara was particularly red, and kept laughing unnaturally and looking round at the next box. Anna, folding her fan and tapping it on the red velvet, was gazing away and did not see, and obviously did not wish to see, what was taking place in the next box. Anna, pliant son éventail et le tapotant sur le velours rouge, regardait ailleurs et ne voyait pas, et ne souhaitait manifestement pas voir, ce qui se passait dans la boîte suivante. Yashvin's face wore the expression which was common when he was losing at cards. Yashvino veide buvo tokia išraiška, kuri buvo įprasta, kai jis pralaimėjo kortose. Scowling, he sucked the left end of his mustache further and further into his mouth, and cast sidelong glances at the next box.

In that box on the left were the Kartasovs. Vronsky knew them, and knew that Anna was acquainted with them. Madame Kartasova, a thin little woman, was standing up in her box, and, her back turned upon Anna, she was putting on a mantle that her husband was holding for her. Madame Kartasova, une petite femme maigre, se tenait debout dans sa loge, et, le dos tourné vers Anna, elle mettait un manteau que son mari tenait pour elle. Her face was pale and angry, and she was talking excitedly. Kartasov, a fat, bald man, was continually looking round at Anna, while he attempted to soothe his wife. When the wife had gone out, the husband lingered a long while, and tried to catch Anna's eye, obviously anxious to bow to her. Quand la femme fut sortie, le mari s'attarda un long moment et tenta d'attirer l'attention d'Anna, visiblement impatient de s'incliner devant elle. But Anna, with unmistakable intention, avoided noticing him, and talked to Yashvin, whose cropped head was bent down to her. Mais Anna, avec une intention indéniable, évita de le remarquer et parla à Yashvin, dont la tête coupée lui était penchée. Bet Anna su neabejotinu ketinimu vengė jo nepastebėti ir kalbėjo su Yashvinu, kurio apkarpyta galva buvo sulenkta prie jos. Kartasov went out without making his salutation, and the box was left empty.

Vronsky could not understand exactly what had passed between the Kartasovs and Anna, but he saw that something humiliating for Anna had happened. He knew this both from what he had seen, and most of all from the face of Anna, who, he could see, was taxing every nerve to carry through the part she had taken up. Il le savait à la fois par ce qu'il avait vu et surtout par le visage d'Anna, qui, il pouvait le voir, mettait tout en œuvre pour mener à bien le rôle qu'elle avait pris. And in maintaining this attitude of external composure she was completely successful. Et en maintenant cette attitude de sang-froid extérieur, elle réussit complètement. Anyone who did not know her and her circle, who had not heard all the utterances of the women expressive of commiseration, indignation, and amazement, that she should show herself in society, and show herself so conspicuously with her lace and her beauty, would have admired the serenity and loveliness of this woman without a suspicion that she was undergoing the sensations of a man in the stocks. Quiconque ne la connaissait pas, elle et son entourage, qui n'avait pas entendu toutes les déclarations des femmes exprimant leur compassion, leur indignation et leur étonnement, pour qu'elle se montre dans la société et se montre si ostensiblement avec sa dentelle et sa beauté, voudrait ont admiré la sérénité et la beauté de cette femme sans soupçonner qu'elle subissait les sensations d'un homme dans les stocks. Tas, kas nepažino jos ir jos būrelio, negirdėjo visų moterų ištarimų, išreiškiančių susikaupimą, pasipiktinimą ir nuostabą, kad ji turėtų save parodyti visuomenėje ir taip akivaizdžiai parodyti savo nėrinius ir grožį, žavėjosi šios moters ramybe ir mielumu, neįtardami, kad ji išgyvena vyro atsargas.

Knowing that something had happened, but not knowing precisely what, Vronsky felt a thrill of agonizing anxiety, and hoping to find out something, he went towards his brother's box. Sachant que quelque chose s'était passé, mais ne sachant pas exactement quoi, Vronsky ressentit un frisson d'angoisse angoissante, et espérant découvrir quelque chose, il se dirigea vers la boîte de son frère. Purposely choosing the way round furthest from Anna's box, he jostled as he came out against the colonel of his old regiment talking to two acquaintances. Choisissant délibérément le chemin le plus éloigné de la loge d'Anna, il se bouscula en sortant contre le colonel de son ancien régiment parlant à deux connaissances. Vronsky heard the name of Madame Karenina, and noticed how the colonel hastened to address Vronsky loudly by name, with a meaning glance at his companions. Vronsky entendit le nom de Madame Karénine, et remarqua comment le colonel s'empressa de s'adresser bruyamment à Vronsky par son nom, avec un regard significatif sur ses compagnons. Vronskis išgirdo madam Kareninos vardą ir pastebėjo, kaip pulkininkas suskubo garsiai kreiptis į Vronskį vardu, prasmingai žvilgtelėjęs į savo palydovus.

"Ah, Vronsky! When are you coming to the regiment? We can't let you off without a supper. Nous ne pouvons pas vous laisser partir sans souper. You're one of the old set," said the colonel of his regiment. Vous faites partie de l'ancien groupe », a déclaré le colonel de son régiment. "I can't stop, awfully sorry, another time," said Vronsky, and he ran upstairs towards his brother's box. «Je ne peux pas m'arrêter, terriblement désolé, une autre fois,» dit Vronsky, et il courut à l'étage vers la boîte de son frère. The old countess, Vronsky's mother, with her steel-gray curls, was in his brother's box. La vieille comtesse, la mère de Vronsky, avec ses boucles gris acier, était dans la boîte de son frère. Varya with the young Princess Sorokina met him in the corridor.

Leaving the Princess Sorokina with her mother, Varya held out her hand to her brother-in-law, and began immediately to speak of what interested him. She was more excited than he had ever seen her. Elle était plus excitée qu'il ne l'avait jamais vue.

"I think it's mean and hateful, and Madame Kartasova had no right to do it. Madame Karenina…" she began. "But what is it? I don't know." "What? you've not heard?" "You know I should be the last person to hear of it." "There isn't a more spiteful creature than that Madame Kartasova!" «Il n'y a pas de créature plus méchante que cette madame Kartasova! "But what did she do?" "My husband told me…. She has insulted Madame Karenina. Her husband began talking to her across the box, and Madame Kartasova made a scene. She said something aloud, he says, something insulting, and went away." "Count, your maman is asking for you," said the young Princess Sorokina, peeping out of the door of the box. "I've been expecting you all the while," said his mother, smiling sarcastically. "You were nowhere to be seen." "Vous n'étiez nulle part en vue." Her son saw that she could not suppress a smile of delight. Son fils a vu qu'elle ne pouvait pas réprimer un sourire de joie.

"Good evening, maman. I have come to you," he said coldly. "Why aren't you going to faire la cour à Madame Karenina ?" she went on, when Princess Sorokina had moved away. " Elle fait sensation. Elle pojūtis. On oublie la Patti pour elle ." "Maman, I have asked you not to say anything to me of that," he answered, scowling. "I'm only saying what everyone's saying." Vronsky made no reply, and saying a few words to Princess Sorokina, he went away. At the door he met his brother.

"Ah, Alexey!" said his brother. "How disgusting! Idiot of a woman, nothing else…. Idiot de femme, rien d'autre…. I wanted to go straight to her. Let's go together." Vronsky did not hear him. With rapid steps he went downstairs; he felt that he must do something, but he did not know what. Anger with her for having put herself and him in such a false position, together with pity for her suffering, filled his heart. La colère contre elle pour s'être mis elle-même et lui dans une si fausse position, ainsi que la pitié pour sa souffrance, remplit son cœur. He went down, and made straight for Anna's box. At her box stood Stremov, talking to her.

"There are no more tenors. Le moule en est brisé! " Le moule en est brisé! " Vronsky bowed to her and stopped to greet Stremov.

"You came in late, I think, and have missed the best song," Anna said to Vronsky, glancing ironically, he thought, at him. "I am a poor judge of music," he said, looking sternly at her. "Like Prince Yashvin," she said smiling, "who considers that Patti sings too loud." «Comme le prince Yashvin», dit-elle en souriant, «qui considère que Patti chante trop fort». "Thank you," she said, her little hand in its long glove taking the playbill Vronsky picked up, and suddenly at that instant her lovely face quivered. «Merci,» dit-elle, sa petite main dans son long gant prenant l'affiche que Vronsky prit, et soudain à cet instant son joli visage trembla. She got up and went into the interior of the box.

Noticing in the next act that her box was empty, Vronsky, rousing indignant "hushes" in the silent audience, went out in the middle of a solo and drove home. Remarquant dans l'acte suivant que sa boîte était vide, Vronsky, provoquant des «chuchotements» indignés dans le public silencieux, sortit au milieu d'un solo et rentra chez lui. Kitame veiksme pastebėjęs, kad jos dėžė tuščia, Vronsky, tyloje publikoje sužadinęs pasipiktinusius „šurmulius“, išėjo vidury solo ir važiavo namo. Anna was already at home. When Vronsky went up to her, she was in the same dress as she had worn at the theater. She was sitting in the first armchair against the wall, looking straight before her. Elle était assise dans le premier fauteuil contre le mur, regardant droit devant elle. She looked at him, and at once resumed her former position.

"Anna," he said. "You, you are to blame for everything!" "Vous, vous êtes à blâmer pour tout!" she cried, with tears of despair and hatred in her voice, getting up.

"I begged, I implored you not to go, I knew it would be unpleasant…." "Unpleasant!" she cried—"hideous! As long as I live I shall never forget it. She said it was a disgrace to sit beside me." "A silly woman's chatter," he said: "but why risk it, why provoke?…" «Le bavardage d'une femme idiote», dit-il: «mais pourquoi le risquer, pourquoi provoquer?…» - Kvailas moters plepalas, - tarė jis: - bet kam rizikuoti, kodėl provokuoti?… "I hate your calm. You ought not to have brought me to this. Vous n'auriez pas dû m'amener là-dessus. If you had loved me…" "Anna! How does the question of my love come in?" Comment se pose la question de mon amour? " "Oh, if you loved me, as I love, if you were tortured as I am!…" she said, looking at him with an expression of terror. He was sorry for her, and angry notwithstanding. Il était désolé pour elle, et pourtant en colère. He assured her of his love because he saw that this was the only means of soothing her, and he did not reproach her in words, but in his heart he reproached her.

And the asseverations of his love, which seemed to him so vulgar that he was ashamed to utter them, she drank in eagerly, and gradually became calmer. Et les affirmations de son amour, qui lui paraissaient si vulgaires qu'il eut honte de les prononcer, elle but avec empressement et se calma peu à peu. The next day, completely reconciled, they left for the country.