Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART SEVEN CHAPTER 25
“I don’t care in the least what your mother thinks, and what match she wants to
make for you,” she said, putting the cup down with a shaking hand.
“But we are not talking about that.”
“Yes, that’s just what we are talking about. And let me tell you that a heartless
woman, whether she’s old or not old, your mother or anyone else, is of no consequence
to me, and I would not consent to know her.”
“Anna, I beg you not to speak disrespectfully of my mother.”
“A woman whose heart does not tell her where her son’s happiness and honor lie
has no heart.”
“I repeat my request that you will not speak disrespectfully of my mother, whom
I respect,” he said, raising his voice and looking sternly at her.
She did not answer. Looking intently at him, at his face, his hands, she recalled
all the details of their reconciliation the previous day, and his passionate caresses.
“There, just such caresses he has lavished, and will lavish, and longs to lavish on
other women!” she thought.
“You don’t love your mother. That’s all talk, and talk, and talk!” she said, looking
at him with hatred in her eyes.
“Even if so, you must...”
“Must decide, and I have decided,” she said, and she would have gone away, but
at that moment Yashvin walked into the room. Anna greeted him and remained.
Why, when there was a tempest in her soul, and she felt she was standing at a turning
point in her life, which might have fearful consequences–why, at that minute, she
had to keep up appearances before an outsider, who sooner or later must know it all–
she did not know. But at once quelling the storm within her, she sat down and began
talking to their guest.
“Well, how are you getting on? Has your debt been paid you?” she asked Yashvin.
“Oh, pretty fair; I fancy I shan’t get it all, but I shall get a good half. And when are
you off?” said Yashvin, looking at Vronsky, and unmistakably guessing at a quarrel.
“The day after tomorrow, I think,” said Vronsky.
“You’ve been meaning to go so long, though.”
“But now it’s quite decided,” said Anna, looking Vronsky straight in the face with
a look which told him not to dream of the possibility of reconciliation.
“Don’t you feel sorry for that unlucky Pyevtsov?” she went on, talking to Yashvin.
“I’ve never asked myself the question, Anna Arkadyevna, whether I’m sorry for
him or not. You see, all my fortune’s here“–he touched his breast pocket–”and just
now I’m a wealthy man. But today I’m going to the club, and I may come out a
beggar. You see, whoever sits down to play with me–he wants to leave me without
a shirt to my back, and so do I him. And so we fight it out, and that’s the pleasure of
it.”
“Well, but suppose you were married,” said Anna, “how would it be for your
wife?”
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