Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART ONE CHAPTER 21
Chapter 21
DOLLY came out of her room to the tea of the grown-up people. Stepan Arkadyevitch
did not come out. He must have left his wife’s room by the other door.
“I am afraid you’ll be cold upstairs,” observed Dolly, addressing Anna; “I want to
move you downstairs, and we shall be nearer.”
“Oh, please, don’t trouble about me,” answered Anna, looking intently into
Dolly’s face, trying to make out whether there had been a reconciliation or not.
“It will be lighter for you here,” answered her sister-in-law.
“I assure you that I sleep everywhere, and always like a marmot.”
“What’s the question?” inquired Stepan Arkadyevitch, coming out of his room
and addressing his wife.
From his tone both Kitty and Anna knew that a reconciliation had taken place.
“I want to move Anna downstairs, but we must hang up blinds. No one knows
how to do it; I must see to it myself,” answered Dolly addressing him.
“God knows whether they are fully reconciled,” thought Anna, hearing her tone,
cold and composed.
“Oh, nonsense, Dolly, always making difficulties,” answered her husband.
“Come, I’ll do it all, if you like...”
“Yes, they must be reconciled,” thought Anna.
“I know how you do everything,” answered Dolly. “You tell Matvey to do what
can’t be done, and go away yourself, leaving him to make a muddle of everything,”
and her habitual, mocking smile curved the corners of Dolly’s lips as she spoke.
“Full, full reconciliation, full,” thought Anna; “thank God!” and rejoicing that she
was the cause of it, she went up to Dolly and kissed her.
“Not at all. Why do you always look down on me and Matvey?” said Stepan
Arkadyevitch, smiling hardly perceptibly, and addressing his wife.
The whole evening Dolly was, as always, a little mocking in her tone to her husband,
while Stepan Arkadyevitch was happy and cheerful, but not so as to seem as
though, having been forgiven, he had forgotten his offense.
At half-past nine o’clock a particularly joyful and pleasant family conversation
over the tea-table at the Oblonskys’ was broken up by an apparently simple incident.
But this simple incident for some reason struck everyone as strange. Talking about
common acquaintances in Petersburg, Anna got up quickly.
“She is in my album,” she said; “and, by the way, I’ll show you my Seryozha,” she
added, with a mother’s smile of pride.
Towards ten o’clock, when she usually said good-night to her son, and often before
going to a ball put him to bed herself, she felt depressed at being so far from him;
and whatever she was talking about, she kept coming back in thought to her curlyheaded
Seryozha. She longed to look at his photograph and talk of him. Seizing the
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