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 some way of escape; here we must simply decide.—Anything is better than the life you are leading. How well I see how you are tormenting yourself about your husband, your son, society, all!"

"Akh! only not my husband," said she, with a simple smile. "I don't know him, I don't think about him! He is not."

"You speak insincerely! I know you; you torment yourself on his account also."

"Not even he knows ...." said she, and suddenly a bright crimson spread over her face; it colored her cheeks, brow, her neck, and tears of shame came into her eyes.

"Let us not speak more of him."

CHAPTER XXIII

had many times tried, though not so decidedly as now, to bring clearly before her mind their position; and always he had met the same superficial and frivolous way of looking at it, as she now treated his demand. Apparently, there was something in this which she was unwilling or unable to fathom; apparently, as soon as she began to speak about it, she, the real Anna, disappeared, to give place to a strange and incomprehensible woman, whom he did not love, but feared, and who was repulsive to him. To-day he was bound to have an absolute explanation.

"Whether he knows or not," he said, in a calm but authoritative voice, "whether he knows or not, it does not concern us. We cannot.... we cannot now continue as we are."

"What, in your opinion, must we do about it?" she demanded, in the same bantering tone of irony. Though she had been so keenly apprehensive that he would not receive her confidence with due appreciation, she was now vexed that he deduced from it the absolute necessity of energetic action.

"Tell him all, and leave him."