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Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, Part 6. Chapter 16.

Part 6. Chapter 16.

Darya Alexandrovna carried out her intention and went to see Anna. She was sorry to annoy her sister and to do anything Levin disliked. She quite understood how right the Levins were in not wishing to have anything to do with Vronsky. But she felt she must go and see Anna, and show her that her feelings could not be changed, in spite of the change in her position. That she might be independent of the Levins in this expedition, Darya Alexandrovna sent to the village to hire horses for the drive; but Levin learning of it went to her to protest.

"What makes you suppose that I dislike your going? But, even if I did dislike it, I should still more dislike your not taking my horses," he said. "You never told me that you were going for certain. Hiring horses in the village is disagreeable to me, and, what's of more importance, they'll undertake the job and never get you there. I have horses. And if you don't want to wound me, you'll take mine." Darya Alexandrovna had to consent, and on the day fixed Levin had ready for his sister-in-law a set of four horses and relays, getting them together from the farm- and saddle-horses—not at all a smart-looking set, but capable of taking Darya Alexandrovna the whole distance in a single day. At that moment, when horses were wanted for the princess, who was going, and for the midwife, it was a difficult matter for Levin to make up the number, but the duties of hospitality would not let him allow Darya Alexandrovna to hire horses when staying in his house. Moreover, he was well aware that the twenty roubles that would be asked for the journey were a serious matter for her; Darya Alexandrovna's pecuniary affairs, which were in a very unsatisfactory state, were taken to heart by the Levins as if they were their own. Darya Alexandrovna, by Levin's advice, started before daybreak. The road was good, the carriage comfortable, the horses trotted along merrily, and on the box, besides the coachman, sat the counting-house clerk, whom Levin was sending instead of a groom for greater security. Darya Alexandrovna dozed and waked up only on reaching the inn where the horses were to be changed.

After drinking tea at the same well-to-do peasant's with whom Levin had stayed on the way to Sviazhsky's, and chatting with the women about their children, and with the old man about Count Vronsky, whom the latter praised very highly, Darya Alexandrovna, at ten o'clock, went on again. At home, looking after her children, she had no time to think. So now, after this journey of four hours, all the thoughts she had suppressed before rushed swarming into her brain, and she thought over all her life as she never had before, and from the most different points of view. Her thoughts seemed strange even to herself. At first she thought about the children, about whom she was uneasy, although the princess and Kitty (she reckoned more upon her) had promised to look after them. "If only Masha does not begin her naughty tricks, if Grisha isn't kicked by a horse, and Lily's stomach isn't upset again!" she thought. But these questions of the present were succeeded by questions of the immediate future. She began thinking how she had to get a new flat in Moscow for the coming winter, to renew the drawing room furniture, and to make her elder girl a cloak. Then questions of the more remote future occurred to her: how she was to place her children in the world. "The girls are all right," she thought; "but the boys?" "It's very well that I'm teaching Grisha, but of course that's only because I am free myself now, I'm not with child. Stiva, of course, there's no counting on. And with the help of good-natured friends I can bring them up; but if there's another baby coming?…" And the thought struck her how untruly it was said that the curse laid on woman was that in sorrow she should bring forth children. "The birth itself, that's nothing; but the months of carrying the child—that's what's so intolerable," she thought, picturing to herself her last pregnancy, and the death of the last baby. And she recalled the conversation she had just had with the young woman at the inn. On being asked whether she had any children, the handsome young woman had answered cheerfully:

"I had a girl baby, but God set me free; I buried her last Lent." "Well, did you grieve very much for her?" asked Darya Alexandrovna.

"Why grieve? The old man has grandchildren enough as it is. It was only a trouble. No working, nor nothing. Only a tie." This answer had struck Darya Alexandrovna as revolting in spite of the good-natured and pleasing face of the young woman; but now she could not help recalling these words. In those cynical words there was indeed a grain of truth.

"Yes, altogether," thought Darya Alexandrovna, looking back over her whole existence during those fifteen years of her married life, "pregnancy, sickness, mental incapacity, indifference to everything, and most of all—hideousness. Kitty, young and pretty as she is, even Kitty has lost her looks; and I when I'm with child become hideous, I know it. The birth, the agony, the hideous agonies, that last moment…then the nursing, the sleepless nights, the fearful pains…." Darya Alexandrovna shuddered at the mere recollection of the pain from sore breasts which she had suffered with almost every child. "Then the children's illnesses, that everlasting apprehension; then bringing them up; evil propensities" (she thought of little Masha's crime among the raspberries), "education, Latin—it's all so incomprehensible and difficult. And on the top of it all, the death of these children." And there rose again before her imagination the cruel memory, that always tore her mother's heart, of the death of her last little baby, who had died of croup; his funeral, the callous indifference of all at the little pink coffin, and her own torn heart, and her lonely anguish at the sight of the pale little brow with its projecting temples, and the open, wondering little mouth seen in the coffin at the moment when it was being covered with the little pink lid with a cross braided on it. "And all this, what's it for? What is to come of it all? That I'm wasting my life, never having a moment's peace, either with child, or nursing a child, forever irritable, peevish, wretched myself and worrying others, repulsive to my husband, while the children are growing up unhappy, badly educated, and penniless. Even now, if it weren't for spending the summer at the Levins', I don't know how we should be managing to live. Of course Kostya and Kitty have so much tact that we don't feel it; but it can't go on. They'll have children, they won't be able to keep us; it's a drag on them as it is. How is papa, who has hardly anything left for himself, to help us? So that I can't even bring the children up by myself, and may find it hard with the help of other people, at the cost of humiliation. Why, even if we suppose the greatest good luck, that the children don't die, and I bring them up somehow. At the very best they'll simply be decent people. That's all I can hope for. And to gain simply that—what agonies, what toil!… One's whole life ruined!" Again she recalled what the young peasant woman had said, and again she was revolted at the thought; but she could not help admitting that there was a grain of brutal truth in the words.

"Is it far now, Mihail?" Darya Alexandrovna asked the counting house clerk, to turn her mind from thoughts that were frightening her.

"From this village, they say, it's five miles." The carriage drove along the village street and onto a bridge. On the bridge was a crowd of peasant women with coils of ties for the sheaves on their shoulders, gaily and noisily chattering. They stood still on the bridge, staring inquisitively at the carriage. All the faces turned to Darya Alexandrovna looked to her healthy and happy, making her envious of their enjoyment of life. "They're all living, they're all enjoying life," Darya Alexandrovna still mused when she had passed the peasant women and was driving uphill again at a trot, seated comfortably on the soft springs of the old carriage, "while I, let out, as it were from prison, from the world of worries that fret me to death, am only looking about me now for an instant. They all live; those peasant women and my sister Natalia and Varenka and Anna, whom I am going to see—all, but not I.

"And they attack Anna. What for? am I any better? I have, anyway, a husband I love—not as I should like to love him, still I do love him, while Anna never loved hers. How is she to blame? She wants to live. God has put that in our hearts. Very likely I should have done the same. Even to this day I don't feel sure I did right in listening to her at that terrible time when she came to me in Moscow. I ought then to have cast off my husband and have begun my life fresh. I might have loved and have been loved in reality. And is it any better as it is? I don't respect him. He's necessary to me," she thought about her husband, "and I put up with him. Is that any better? At that time I could still have been admired, I had beauty left me still," Darya Alexandrovna pursued her thoughts, and she would have liked to look at herself in the looking glass. She had a traveling looking glass in her handbag, and she wanted to take it out; but looking at the backs of the coachman and the swaying counting house clerk, she felt that she would be ashamed if either of them were to look round, and she did not take out the glass.

But without looking in the glass, she thought that even now it was not too late; and she thought of Sergey Ivanovitch, who was always particularly attentive to her, of Stiva's good-hearted friend, Turovtsin, who had helped her nurse her children through the scarlatina, and was in love with her. And there was someone else, a quite young man, who—her husband had told her it as a joke—thought her more beautiful than either of her sisters. And the most passionate and impossible romances rose before Darya Alexandrovna's imagination. "Anna did quite right, and certainly I shall never reproach her for it. She is happy, she makes another person happy, and she's not broken down as I am, but most likely just as she always was, bright, clever, open to every impression," thought Darya Alexandrovna,—and a sly smile curved her lips, for, as she pondered on Anna's love affair, Darya Alexandrovna constructed on parallel lines an almost identical love affair for herself, with an imaginary composite figure, the ideal man who was in love with her. She, like Anna, confessed the whole affair to her husband. And the amazement and perplexity of Stepan Arkadyevitch at this avowal made her smile.

In such daydreams she reached the turning of the highroad that led to Vozdvizhenskoe.

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Part 6. Chapter 16.

Darya Alexandrovna carried out her intention and went to see Anna. Darya Alexandrovna a réalisé son intention et est allée voir Anna. She was sorry to annoy her sister and to do anything Levin disliked. She quite understood how right the Levins were in not wishing to have anything to do with Vronsky. Ji visiškai suprato, kaip teisingai Levinai nenorėjo turėti nieko bendro su Vronskiu. But she felt she must go and see Anna, and show her that her feelings could not be changed, in spite of the change in her position. That she might be independent of the Levins in this expedition, Darya Alexandrovna sent to the village to hire horses for the drive; but Levin learning of it went to her to protest.

"What makes you suppose that I dislike your going? But, even if I did dislike it, I should still more dislike your not taking my horses," he said. "You never told me that you were going for certain. Hiring horses in the village is disagreeable to me, and, what's of more importance, they'll undertake the job and never get you there. Louer des chevaux au village m'est désagréable et, ce qui est plus important, ils entreprendront le travail et ne vous y emmèneront jamais. I have horses. And if you don't want to wound me, you'll take mine." Darya Alexandrovna had to consent, and on the day fixed Levin had ready for his sister-in-law a set of four horses and relays, getting them together from the farm- and saddle-horses—not at all a smart-looking set, but capable of taking Darya Alexandrovna the whole distance in a single day. Darya Alexandrovna dut consentir, et le jour fixé, Levin prépara pour sa belle-sœur un ensemble de quatre chevaux et des relais, les rassemblant de la ferme et des chevaux de selle - pas du tout un ensemble élégant, mais capable d'emmener Darya Alexandrovna sur toute la distance en une seule journée. At that moment, when horses were wanted for the princess, who was going, and for the midwife, it was a difficult matter for Levin to make up the number, but the duties of hospitality would not let him allow Darya Alexandrovna to hire horses when staying in his house. À ce moment-là, alors que des chevaux étaient recherchés pour la princesse qui partait et pour la sage-femme, il était difficile pour Levin de composer le nombre, mais les devoirs d'hospitalité ne lui permettaient pas de laisser Darya Alexandrovna louer des chevaux quand rester dans sa maison. Moreover, he was well aware that the twenty roubles that would be asked for the journey were a serious matter for her; Darya Alexandrovna's pecuniary affairs, which were in a very unsatisfactory state, were taken to heart by the Levins as if they were their own. De plus, il savait bien que les vingt roubles qui seraient demandés pour le voyage étaient une affaire sérieuse pour elle; Les affaires pécuniaires de Darya Alexandrovna, qui étaient dans un état très insatisfaisant, ont été prises à cœur par les Lévin comme si elles étaient les leurs. Darya Alexandrovna, by Levin's advice, started before daybreak. The road was good, the carriage comfortable, the horses trotted along merrily, and on the box, besides the coachman, sat the counting-house clerk, whom Levin was sending instead of a groom for greater security. La route était bonne, la voiture confortable, les chevaux trottaient joyeusement, et sur le box, outre le cocher, était assis le commis du comptoir, que Levin envoyait à la place d'un palefrenier pour plus de sécurité. Darya Alexandrovna dozed and waked up only on reaching the inn where the horses were to be changed.

After drinking tea at the same well-to-do peasant's with whom Levin had stayed on the way to Sviazhsky's, and chatting with the women about their children, and with the old man about Count Vronsky, whom the latter praised very highly, Darya Alexandrovna, at ten o'clock, went on again. Išgėręs arbatos pas tuos pačius pasiturinčius valstiečius, su kuriais Levinas liko pakeliui pas Sviazhsky, ir pabendravęs su moterimis apie jų vaikus, ir su senuku apie grafą Vronskį, kurį pastarasis labai gyrė, Darja Aleksandrovna , dešimtą valandą, vėl tęsėsi. At home, looking after her children, she had no time to think. So now, after this journey of four hours, all the thoughts she had suppressed before rushed swarming into her brain, and she thought over all her life as she never had before, and from the most different points of view. Alors maintenant, après ce voyage de quatre heures, toutes les pensées qu'elle avait refoulées se précipitèrent dans son cerveau, et elle réfléchit à toute sa vie comme elle ne l'avait jamais fait auparavant, et des points de vue les plus différents. Her thoughts seemed strange even to herself. At first she thought about the children, about whom she was uneasy, although the princess and Kitty (she reckoned more upon her) had promised to look after them. Au début, elle pensa aux enfants, dont elle était inquiète, bien que la princesse et Kitty (elle comptait plus sur elle) avaient promis de s'occuper d'eux. "If only Masha does not begin her naughty tricks, if Grisha isn't kicked by a horse, and Lily's stomach isn't upset again!" she thought. But these questions of the present were succeeded by questions of the immediate future. She began thinking how she had to get a new flat in Moscow for the coming winter, to renew the drawing room furniture, and to make her elder girl a cloak. Then questions of the more remote future occurred to her: how she was to place her children in the world. "The girls are all right," she thought; "but the boys?" "It's very well that I'm teaching Grisha, but of course that's only because I am free myself now, I'm not with child. Stiva, of course, there's no counting on. And with the help of good-natured friends I can bring them up; but if there's another baby coming?…" And the thought struck her how untruly it was said that the curse laid on woman was that in sorrow she should bring forth children. Et avec l'aide d'amis de bonne humeur, je peux les élever; mais s'il y a un autre bébé à venir?… »Et la pensée la frappa à quel point on disait indûment que la malédiction posée sur la femme était que dans le chagrin elle devait engendrer des enfants. "The birth itself, that's nothing; but the months of carrying the child—that's what's so intolerable," she thought, picturing to herself her last pregnancy, and the death of the last baby. And she recalled the conversation she had just had with the young woman at the inn. On being asked whether she had any children, the handsome young woman had answered cheerfully:

"I had a girl baby, but God set me free; I buried her last Lent." "J'ai eu une petite fille, mais Dieu m'a libéré; j'ai enterré son dernier Carême." "Well, did you grieve very much for her?" «Eh bien, avez-vous beaucoup pleuré pour elle? asked Darya Alexandrovna.

"Why grieve? The old man has grandchildren enough as it is. It was only a trouble. No working, nor nothing. Only a tie." This answer had struck Darya Alexandrovna as revolting in spite of the good-natured and pleasing face of the young woman; but now she could not help recalling these words. In those cynical words there was indeed a grain of truth.

"Yes, altogether," thought Darya Alexandrovna, looking back over her whole existence during those fifteen years of her married life, "pregnancy, sickness, mental incapacity, indifference to everything, and most of all—hideousness. «Oui, tout à fait», pensa Darya Alexandrovna, en repensant à toute son existence pendant ces quinze années de sa vie conjugale, «grossesse, maladie, incapacité mentale, indifférence à tout, et surtout - hideur. Kitty, young and pretty as she is, even Kitty has lost her looks; and I when I'm with child become hideous, I know it. Kitty, jauna ir graži, kokia ji yra, net Kitty prarado savo išvaizdą; o aš, būdama su vaiku, pasidarau siaubinga, aš tai žinau. The birth, the agony, the hideous agonies, that last moment…then the nursing, the sleepless nights, the fearful pains…." La naissance, l'agonie, les affreuses souffrances, ce dernier moment… puis l'allaitement, les nuits blanches, les douleurs effrayantes…. " Darya Alexandrovna shuddered at the mere recollection of the pain from sore breasts which she had suffered with almost every child. Darya Alexandrovna frissonna au simple souvenir de la douleur des seins endoloris dont elle avait souffert avec presque tous les enfants. "Then the children's illnesses, that everlasting apprehension; then bringing them up; evil propensities" (she thought of little Masha's crime among the raspberries), "education, Latin—it's all so incomprehensible and difficult. «Puis les maladies des enfants, cette appréhension éternelle; puis les élever; les mauvaises tendances» (elle pensait au crime de la petite Masha parmi les framboises), «l'éducation, le latin, tout est si incompréhensible et difficile. And on the top of it all, the death of these children." And there rose again before her imagination the cruel memory, that always tore her mother's heart, of the death of her last little baby, who had died of croup; his funeral, the callous indifference of all at the little pink coffin, and her own torn heart, and her lonely anguish at the sight of the pale little brow with its projecting temples, and the open, wondering little mouth seen in the coffin at the moment when it was being covered with the little pink lid with a cross braided on it. Et là remontait devant son imagination le cruel souvenir, qui déchirait toujours le cœur de sa mère, de la mort de son dernier petit bébé, mort du croup; ses funérailles, l'indifférence insensible de tous au petit cercueil rose, et son propre cœur déchiré, et son angoisse solitaire à la vue du petit front pâle avec ses tempes saillantes, et la petite bouche ouverte et émerveillée vue dans le cercueil à la moment où il était recouvert du petit couvercle rose avec une croix tressée dessus. Ir prieš jos vaizduotę vėl kilo žiaurus prisiminimas, kuris visada draskė motinos širdį, apie paskutinio mažo kūdikio, kuris mirė nuo krupo, mirtį; jo laidotuvės, bejausmis visų abejingumas mažam rausvam karstui, jos pačios suplėšyta širdis ir vieniša kančia, matant blyškią mažą antakį su kyšančiomis šventyklomis ir atvirą, stebinančią mažą burną, matomą karste. akimirka, kai jis buvo uždengtas mažu rausvu dangteliu, ant kurio pintas kryžius. "And all this, what's it for? What is to come of it all? Que va-t-il en résulter? That I'm wasting my life, never having a moment's peace, either with child, or nursing a child, forever irritable, peevish, wretched myself and worrying others, repulsive to my husband, while the children are growing up unhappy, badly educated, and penniless. Que je gâche ma vie, sans jamais avoir un moment de paix, ni avec un enfant, ni en allaitant un enfant, à jamais irritable, maussade, misérable moi-même et inquiète les autres, répugnante pour mon mari, alors que les enfants grandissent malheureux, mal éduqués, et sans le sou. Even now, if it weren't for spending the summer at the Levins', I don't know how we should be managing to live. Of course Kostya and Kitty have so much tact that we don't feel it; but it can't go on. Bien sûr, Kostya et Kitty ont tellement de tact que nous ne le sentons pas; mais ça ne peut pas continuer. They'll have children, they won't be able to keep us; it's a drag on them as it is. Ils auront des enfants, ils ne pourront pas nous garder; c'est un frein pour eux tel qu'il est. How is papa, who has hardly anything left for himself, to help us? Comment papa, qui n'a presque plus rien pour lui, peut-il nous aider? So that I can't even bring the children up by myself, and may find it hard with the help of other people, at the cost of humiliation. Pour que je ne puisse même pas élever les enfants par moi-même, et que je puisse avoir du mal avec l'aide d'autres personnes, au prix de l'humiliation. Why, even if we suppose the greatest good luck, that the children don't die, and I bring them up somehow. At the very best they'll simply be decent people. That's all I can hope for. And to gain simply that—what agonies, what toil!… One's whole life ruined!" Et pour gagner simplement cela - quelles souffrances, quel labeur!… Toute une vie est ruinée! " Again she recalled what the young peasant woman had said, and again she was revolted at the thought; but she could not help admitting that there was a grain of brutal truth in the words.

"Is it far now, Mihail?" «Est-ce loin maintenant, Mihail? Darya Alexandrovna asked the counting house clerk, to turn her mind from thoughts that were frightening her.

"From this village, they say, it's five miles." The carriage drove along the village street and onto a bridge. On the bridge was a crowd of peasant women with coils of ties for the sheaves on their shoulders, gaily and noisily chattering. Sur le pont, il y avait une foule de paysannes avec des boucles de liens pour les gerbes sur leurs épaules, bavardant gaiement et bruyamment. They stood still on the bridge, staring inquisitively at the carriage. All the faces turned to Darya Alexandrovna looked to her healthy and happy, making her envious of their enjoyment of life. Tous les visages tournés vers Darya Alexandrovna la regardaient en bonne santé et heureuse, la rendant envieuse de leur jouissance de la vie. "They're all living, they're all enjoying life," Darya Alexandrovna still mused when she had passed the peasant women and was driving uphill again at a trot, seated comfortably on the soft springs of the old carriage, "while I, let out, as it were from prison, from the world of worries that fret me to death, am only looking about me now for an instant. «Ils vivent tous, ils profitent tous de la vie», songeait encore Darya Alexandrovna lorsqu'elle avait croisé les paysannes et remontait la pente au trot, assise confortablement sur les ressorts souples de la vieille voiture, «tandis que moi, sortir, pour ainsi dire de la prison, du monde des soucis qui m'inquiètent à mort, je ne regarde maintenant autour de moi qu'un instant. They all live; those peasant women and my sister Natalia and Varenka and Anna, whom I am going to see—all, but not I.

"And they attack Anna. What for? am I any better? I have, anyway, a husband I love—not as I should like to love him, still I do love him, while Anna never loved hers. Aš vis tiek turiu mylimą vyrą - ne taip, kaip norėčiau mylėti, vis tiek aš jį myliu, o Anna niekada nemylėjo savo. How is she to blame? She wants to live. God has put that in our hearts. Very likely I should have done the same. Even to this day I don't feel sure I did right in listening to her at that terrible time when she came to me in Moscow. Même à ce jour, je ne suis pas sûr d'avoir bien écouté son oreille à cette terrible époque où elle est venue me voir à Moscou. I ought then to have cast off my husband and have begun my life fresh. J'aurais dû alors me débarrasser de mon mari et recommencer ma vie à neuf. I might have loved and have been loved in reality. And is it any better as it is? Et est-ce mieux tel quel? I don't respect him. He's necessary to me," she thought about her husband, "and I put up with him. Is that any better? At that time I could still have been admired, I had beauty left me still," Darya Alexandrovna pursued her thoughts, and she would have liked to look at herself in the looking glass. A ce moment-là, j'aurais pu encore être admirée, j'avais laissé la beauté encore, »Darya Alexandrovna poursuivit ses pensées, et elle aurait aimé se regarder dans le miroir. She had a traveling looking glass in her handbag, and she wanted to take it out; but looking at the backs of the coachman and the swaying counting house clerk, she felt that she would be ashamed if either of them were to look round, and she did not take out the glass. Elle avait un miroir de voyage dans son sac à main, et elle voulait le sortir; mais en regardant le dos du cocher et du commis de comptage, elle sentit qu'elle aurait honte si l'un ou l'autre regardait autour de lui, et elle ne sortit pas le verre.

But without looking in the glass, she thought that even now it was not too late; and she thought of Sergey Ivanovitch, who was always particularly attentive to her, of Stiva's good-hearted friend, Turovtsin, who had helped her nurse her children through the scarlatina, and was in love with her. Bet nežiūrėdama į taurę ji pamanė, kad ir dabar nevėlu; ji pagalvojo apie Sergejų Ivanovičių, kuris visada buvo jai ypač dėmesingas, apie geros širdies Stivos draugą Turovciną, kuris padėjo jai slaugyti vaikus per skarlatiną ir buvo ją įsimylėjęs. And there was someone else, a quite young man, who—her husband had told her it as a joke—thought her more beautiful than either of her sisters. Et il y avait quelqu'un d'autre, un homme tout à fait jeune, qui - son mari lui avait dit cela pour plaisanter - la trouvait plus belle que l'une de ses sœurs. Ir buvo kažkas kitas, visai jaunas vyras, kuris - vyras jai tai pasakė kaip pokštą - manė, kad ji gražesnė už bet kurią iš seserų. And the most passionate and impossible romances rose before Darya Alexandrovna's imagination. "Anna did quite right, and certainly I shall never reproach her for it. She is happy, she makes another person happy, and she's not broken down as I am, but most likely just as she always was, bright, clever, open to every impression," thought Darya Alexandrovna,—and a sly smile curved her lips, for, as she pondered on Anna's love affair, Darya Alexandrovna constructed on parallel lines an almost identical love affair for herself, with an imaginary composite figure, the ideal man who was in love with her. Elle est heureuse, elle rend une autre personne heureuse, et elle n'est pas décomposée comme moi, mais probablement comme elle l'a toujours été, brillante, intelligente, ouverte à toutes les impressions », pensa Darya Alexandrovna, - et un sourire narquois courbait ses lèvres , car, en réfléchissant à l'histoire d'amour d'Anna, Darya Alexandrovna a construit sur des lignes parallèles une histoire d'amour presque identique pour elle-même, avec une figure composite imaginaire, l'homme idéal qui l'aimait. She, like Anna, confessed the whole affair to her husband. Elle, comme Anna, a avoué toute l'affaire à son mari. And the amazement and perplexity of Stepan Arkadyevitch at this avowal made her smile.

In such daydreams she reached the turning of the highroad that led to Vozdvizhenskoe. Dans de telles rêveries, elle atteignit le détour de la route qui menait à Vozdvizhenskoe.