Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART FOUR CHAPTER 17
Alexey Alexandrovitch went into her boudoir.
At the table, sitting sideways in a low chair, was Vronsky, his face hidden in his
hands, weeping. He jumped up at the doctor’s voice, took his hands from his face,
and saw Alexey Alexandrovitch. Seeing the husband, he was so overwhelmed that
he sat down again, drawing his head down to his shoulders, as if he wanted to
disappear; but he made an effort over himself, got up and said:
“She is dying. The doctors say there is no hope. I am entirely in your power, only
let me be here...though I am at your disposal. I...”
Alexey Alexandrovitch, seeing Vronsky’s tears, felt a rush of that nervous emotion
always produced in him by the sight of other people’s suffering, and turning away
his face, he moved hurriedly to the door, without hearing the rest of his words. From
the bedroom came the sound of Anna’s voice saying something. Her voice was lively,
eager, with exceedingly distinct intonations. Alexey Alexandrovitch went into the
bedroom, and went up to the bed. She was lying turned with her face towards him.
Her cheeks were flushed crimson, her eyes glittered, her little white hands thrust
out from the sleeves of her dressing gown were playing with the quilt, twisting it
about. It seemed as though she were not only well and blooming, but in the happiest
frame of mind. She was talking rapidly, musically, and with exceptionally correct
articulation and expressive intonation.
“For Alexey–I am speaking of Alexey Alexandrovitch (what a strange and awful
thing that both are Alexey, isn’t it?)–Alexey would not refuse me. I should forget, he
would forgive.... But why doesn’t he come? He’s so good he doesn’t know himself
how good he is. Ah, my God, what agony! Give me some water, quick! Oh, that will
be bad for her, my little girl! Oh, very well then, give her to a nurse. Yes, I agree, it’s
better in fact. He’ll be coming; it will hurt him to see her. Give her to the nurse.”
“Anna Arkadyevna, he has come. Here he is!” said the midwife, trying to attract
her attention to Alexey Alexandrovitch.
“Oh, what nonsense!” Anna went on, not seeing her husband. “No, give her
to me; give me my little one! He has not come yet. You say he won’t forgive me,
because you don’t know him. No one knows him. I’m the only one, and it was hard
for me even. His eyes I ought to know–Seryozha has just the same eyes–and I can’t
bear to see them because of it. Has Seryozha had his dinner? I know everyone will
forget him. He would not forget. Seryozha must be moved into the corner room,
and Mariette must be asked to sleep with him.”
All of a sudden she shrank back, was silent; and in terror, as though expecting a
blow, as though to defend herself, she raised her hands to her face. She had seen her
husband.
“No, no!” she began. “I am not afraid of him; I am afraid of death. Alexey, come
here. I am in a hurry, because I’ve no time, I’ve not long left to live; the fever will
begin directly and I shall understand nothing more. Now I understand, I understand
it all, I see it all!”
Alexey Alexandrovitch’s wrinkled face wore an expression of agony; he took her
by the hand and tried to say something, but he could not utter it; his lower lip
quivered, but he still went on struggling with his emotion, and only now and then
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