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 pression of her gloomy and frightened face now allowed him no further chance of falsehood.

"Possibly I am mistaken," said he; "in that case, I beg you to forgive me."

"No, you are not mistaken," she replied, with measured words, casting a look of despair on her husband's icy face. "You are not mistaken; I was in despair, and I could not help being. I hear you, but I am thinking only of him. I love him, I am his mistress. I cannot endure you, I fear you, I hate you!.... Do with me what you please!"

And, throwing herself into a corner of the carriage, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.

Alekseï Aleksandrovitch did not move, or change the direction of his eyes; but his whole face suddenly assumed the solemn rigidity of a corpse, and this expression remained unchanged throughout the drive to the datcha. As they reached the house, he turned his head to her still with the same expression.

"So! but I insist on the preservation of appearances until"—and here his voice trembled—"I decide on the measures which I shall take to save my honor and communicate them to you."

He stepped out of the carriage, and assisted Anna out. Then, in presence of the domestics, he shook hands with her, reentered the carriage, and drove back to Petersburg.

He had just gone, when a lackey from Betsy brought a note to Anna:—

"I sent to Alekseï Vronsky to learn how he was. He writes me that he is safe and sound, but in despair."

"Then he will come," she thought. "How well I did to tell him all!"

She looked at her watch; scarcely three hours had passed since she saw him, but the memory of their interview made her heart hot within her.

"Bozhe moï! how light it is! It is terrible! but I love to see his face, and I love this fantastic light .... My husband! oh! yes! ....well! thank God it is all over with him!"