Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART SIX CHAPTER 4
However many women and girls he thought of whom he knew, he could not think
of a girl who united to such a degree all, positively all, the qualities he would wish
to see in his wife. She had all the charm and freshness of youth, but she was not a
child; and if she loved him, she loved him consciously as a woman ought to love;
that was one thing. Another point: she was not only far from being worldly, but
had an unmistakable distaste for worldly society, and at the same time she knew the
world, and had all the ways of a woman of the best society, which were absolutely
essential to Sergey Ivanovitch’s conception of the woman who was to share his life.
Thirdly: she was religious, and not like a child, unconsciously religious and good,
as Kitty, for example, was, but her life was founded on religious principles. Even in
trifling matters, Sergey Ivanovitch found in her all that he wanted in his wife: she
was poor and alone in the world, so she would not bring with her a mass of relations
and their influence into her husband’s house, as he saw now in Kitty’s case. She
would owe everything to her husband, which was what he had always desired too
for his future family life. And this girl, who united all these qualities, loved him.
He was a modest man, but he could not help seeing it. And he loved her. There
was one consideration against it–his age. But he came of a long-lived family, he had
not a single gray hair, no one would have taken him for forty, and he remembered
Varenka’s saying that it was only in Russia that men of fifty thought themselves
old, and that in France a man of fifty considers himself dans la force de l’âge, while
a man of forty is un jeune homme. But what did the mere reckoning of years matter
when he felt as young in heart as he had been twenty years ago? Was it not youth
to feel as he felt now, when coming from the other side to the edge of the wood he
saw in the glowing light of the slanting sunbeams the gracious figure of Varenka in
her yellow gown with her basket, walking lightly by the trunk of an old birch tree,
and when this impression of the sight of Varenka blended so harmoniously with the
beauty of the view, of the yellow oatfield lying bathed in the slanting sunshine, and
beyond it the distant ancient forest flecked with yellow and melting into the blue of
the distance? His heart throbbed joyously. A softened feeling came over him. He
felt that he had made up his mind. Varenka, who had just crouched down to pick
a mushroom, rose with a supple movement and looked round. Flinging away the
cigar, Sergey Ivanovitch advanced with resolute steps towards her.
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