# Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Two/Chapter 23

CHAPTER XXIII
Vronsky 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."
​"Very good! let us suppose I do it," said she. "Do you know what the result would be? I will tell you;" and a wicked fire flashed from her eyes, which were just now so gentle. "'Oh! you love another, and your course with him has been criminal,'" said she, imitating her husband, and accenting the word criminal in exactly his manner. "I warned you of the consequences which would follow from the point of view of religion, of society, and of the family. You did not listen to me; now I cannot allow my name to be dishonored, and my'"—she was going to say my son, but stopped, for she could not jest about him—"'my name dishonored,' and so on in the same style," she added. In a word, he will tell me with his official manner and with precision and clearness that he cannot set me free, but that he will take measures to avoid a scandal. And he will do exactly as he says. That is what will take place; for he is not a man, he is a machine, and, when he is stirred up, an ugly machine," said she, calling to mind the most trifling details in her husband's face and manner of speaking, and charging to him as a crime all the ill that she could find in him, and not pardoning him at all on account of the terrible sin of which she had been guilty before him.
"But, Anna," said Vronsky, in a persuasive, tender voice, trying to calm her, "you must tell him everything, and act accordingly as he proceeds."
"What! elope?"
"Why not elope? I see no possibility of living as we are any longer; it is not on my account, but I see you will suffer."
"What! elope, and become your mistress?" said she, bitterly.
"Anna!" he cried, deeply wounded.
"Yes, your mistress, and lose everything!" ....
Again she was going to say my son, but she could not pronounce the word.
Vronsky could not understand how she, with her strong, loyal nature, could accept the false position in which she was placed, and not endeavor to escape from ​it. But he could not doubt that the principal cause of this was represented by that word son, which she could not pronounce.
When she thought of her son and his future relations to a mother who had deserted his father, the horror of what she had done appeared so great, that, like a real woman, she was not able to reason, but only endeavored to reassure herself by fallacious arguments, and persuade herself that all would go on as before; above all things, she must shut her eyes, and forget this terrible question, what would become of her son.
"I beg of you, I entreat you," she said suddenly, speaking in a very different tone, a tone of tenderness and sincerity, and seizing his hand, "don't ever speak to me of that again."
"But, Anna .... "
"Never, never! Leave it to me. I know all the depth, all the horror, of my situation, but it is not so easy as you imagine to decide. Let me decide, and listen to me. Never speak to me again of that. Will you promise me? .... never, never? promise!" ....
"I promise all; but I cannot be calm, especially after what you have told me. I cannot be calm when you cannot be calm." ....
"I?" she repeated. "Yes, I suffer torments sometimes, but that will pass if you will not say anything more about it. When you speak with me about this, then, and then only, it tortures me."
"I don't understand .... "
"I know," she interrupted, "how your honest nature abhors lying; I am sorry for you; and very often I think that you have sacrificed your life for me!"
"That is exactly what I say about you. I was just this moment thinking how you could sacrifice yourself for me! I cannot forgive myself for having made you unhappy."
"I unhappy?" said she, coming up close to him, and looking at him with a smile of enthusiastic love. "I? I am like a man dying of hunger, to whom food has been given. Maybe he is cold, and his raiment is ​rags, and he is ashamed, but he is not unhappy. I unhappy? No; here comes my joy." ....
She had heard the voice of her little boy coming near, and giving a hurried glance around her, swiftly arose. Her face glowed with the fire which Vronsky knew so well, and with a hasty motion putting out her lovely hands, covered with rings, she took Vronsky's face between them, looked at him a long moment, reached her face up to his, with her smiling lips parted, kissed his mouth and both eyes, and pushed him away. She started to go, but he kept her back a moment.
"When?" he whispered, looking at her with ecstasy.
"To-day at one o'clock," she replied in a low voice, and with a deep sigh she ran, in her light, graceful gait, to meet her son.
Serozha had been caught by the rain in the park, and had taken refuge with his nurse in a pavilion.
"Well, good-by—da svidanya!" said she to Vronsky. "I must get ready for the races. Betsy has promised to come and get me."
Vronsky looked at his watch, and hurried away.