Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART FOUR CHAPTER 19
Towards the end of February it happened that Anna’s baby daughter, who had
been named Anna too, fell ill. Alexey Alexandrovitch was in the nursery in the
morning, and leaving orders for the doctor to be sent for, he went to his office. On
finishing his work, he returned home at four. Going into the hall he saw a handsome
groom, in a braided livery and a bear fur cape, holding a white fur cloak.
“Who is here?” asked Alexey Alexandrovitch.
“Princess Elizaveta Federovna Tverskaya,” the groom answered, and it seemed to
Alexey Alexandrovitch that he grinned.
During all this difficult time Alexey Alexandrovitch had noticed that his worldly
acquaintances, especially women, took a peculiar interest in him and his wife. All
these acquaintances he observed with difficulty concealing their mirth at something;
the same mirth that he had perceived in the lawyer’s eyes, and just now in the eyes of
this groom. Everyone seemed, somehow, hugely delighted, as though they had just
been at a wedding. When they met him, with ill-disguised enjoyment they inquired
after his wife’s health. The presence of Princess Tverskaya was unpleasant to Alexey
Alexandrovitch from the memories associated with her, and also because he disliked
her, and he went straight to the nursery. In the day nursery Seryozha, leaning on the
table with his legs on a chair, was drawing and chatting away merrily. The English
governess, who had during Anna’s illness replaced the French one, was sitting near
the boy knitting a shawl. She hurriedly got up, curtseyed, and pulled Seryozha.
Alexey Alexandrovitch stroked his son’s hair, answered the governess’s inquiries
about his wife, and asked what the doctor had said of the baby.
“The doctor said it was nothing serious, and he ordered a bath, sir.”
“But she is still in pain,” said Alexey Alexandrovitch, listening to the baby’s
screaming in the next room.
“I think it’s the wet-nurse, sir,” the Englishwoman said firmly.
“What makes you think so?” he asked, stopping short.
“It’s just as it was at Countess Paul’s, sir. They gave the baby medicine, and it
turned out that the baby was simply hungry: the nurse had no milk, sir.”
Alexey Alexandrovitch pondered, and after standing still a few seconds he went
in at the other door. The baby was lying with its head thrown back, stiffening itself in
the nurse’s arms, and would not take the plump breast offered it; and it never ceased
screaming in spite of the double hushing of the wet-nurse and the other nurse, who
was bending over her.
“Still no better?” said Alexey Alexandrovitch.
“She’s very restless,” answered the nurse in a whisper.
“Miss Edwarde says that perhaps the wet-nurse has no milk,” he said.
“I think so too, Alexey Alexandrovitch.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
“Who’s one to say it to? Anna Arkadyevna still ill...” said the nurse discontentedly.
The nurse was an old servant of the family. And in her simple words there seemed
to Alexey Alexandrovitch an allusion to his position.
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