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 teem for Anna's character, and a greater sense of her beauty.

With a dark frown he went back to his room, and sat down with Yashvin, who, with his long legs stretched out on a chair, was drinking cognac and seltzer water. Vronsky ordered the same for himself.

"You spoke of Lanskof's Moguchi? He is a fine horse, and I advise you to buy him," began Yashvin, glancing at his comrade's solemn face. "His crupper is tapering, but what legs! and what a head! You couldn't do better."

"I think I shall take him," replied Vronsky.

The talk about horses occupied him, but not for a moment was the thought of Anna absent from his mind, and he involuntarily listened for the sound of steps in the corridor, and kept looking at the clock on the mantel.

"Anna Arkadyevna left word that she has gone to the theater," a servant announced.

Yashvin poured out another little glass of cognac and seltzer, drank it, and rose, buttoning up his coat.

"Well, shall we go?" said he, half smiling beneath his long mustaches, and showing that he understood the cause of Vronsky's vexation, but did not attach much importance to it.

"I am not going," replied Vronsky, gloomily.

"I promised, so I must go; well—da svidanya! If you should change your mind, take Krasinsky's seat, which will be unoccupied," he added, as he went out.

"No; I have some work to do."

"A man has trials with a wife, but with a not-wife it is even worse," thought Yashvin as he left the hotel.

When Vronsky was alone, he rose, and began to walk up and down the room.

"Yes! To-night? The fourth subscription night.... My brother Yegor will be there with his wife, and with my mother, probably; in fact, all Petersburg will be there! Now she is going in, and is taking off her shuba, and there she is in the light! Tushkievitch, Yashvin, the Princess Varvara!" he pictured the scene to himself. "What am I to do? am I afraid? or have I given Tush-