# Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part Four/Chapter 16

CHAPTER XVI
The princess was sitting in her easy-chair, silent and beaming; the prince was sitting beside her; Kitty was standing near her father, holding his hand. All of them were silent.
The princess was the first to bring their thoughts and feelings back to the affairs of real life; and the transition gave each of them, for a moment, a strange and painful impression.
"When shall the wedding be? We must announce the marriage, and have them betrothed. But when shall the wedding be? What do you think about it, Aleksandr?"
"There is the person most interested," said the prince, pointing to Levin.
"When?" replied the latter, reddening. "To-morrow! If you wish my opinion; to-day, the betrothal; to-morrow, the wedding."
"There, there, that'll do, mon cher; no nonsense!"
"Well, in a week, then."
"One would really suppose that you had lost your senses."
"But why not?"
"Mercy on us!" said the mother, smiling gayly at his impatience. "And the trousseau?"
"Is it possible that a trousseau and all the rest are indispensable?" thought Levin, with alarm. "However, neither the trousseau, nor the betrothal, nor anything else, can spoil my happiness! Nothing can do that!" ​He looked at Kitty, and noticed that the idea of the trousseau did not offend her at all. "It must be very necessary," he said to himself. "I admit that I know nothing about it. I have merely expressed my desire," said he, excusing himself.
"We will consider the matter; now we will have the betrothal, and announce the marriage. That is what we will do."
The princess stepped up to her husband, kissed him, and was about to move away again; but he held her, and kissed her again and again, like a young lover. The two old people seemed agitated, and ready to believe that it was not their daughter who was to be married, but themselves.
When the prince and princess had gone out. Levin approached his fiancée, and took her hand; he had regained his self-possession, and could speak; he had many other things on his mind to tell her, but he did not say at all what he intended to say.
"I knew that it would be like this; at the bottom of my heart I was sure of it, without ever daring to hope. I believe that it was predestined."
"And I," replied Kitty, "even when,"—she hesitated, then continued, looking at him resolutely out of her sincere eyes,—"even when I rejected my happiness. I never loved anybody but you; I was led away. I ought to tell you .... I must ask you, can you forget it?"
"Perhaps it was best that it should be so. You, too, will have to pardon me, for I must confess to you." ....
This was one of the things he had on his mind to tell her. He had decided to confess everything to her, from his earliest life,—first, that he was not so pure as she, and then that he was not a believer. This was cruel, but he thought it his duty to make these confessions to her.
"No, not now; later," said he.
​"Is it decided," he interrupted, "that you take me just as I am? you do not take back your word!"
"No, oh, no!"
Their conversation was interrupted by Mademoiselle Linon, who, trying to look properly serious, came to congratulate her favorite pupil. She had not left the drawing-room before the servants came to offer their congratulations. Next came the relatives and friends; and this was the beginning of that absurdly happy period, from which Levin did not emerge till the day after his marriage.
Although he felt constrained and ill at ease all the time, yet the force of his happiness kept increasing. He felt all the time that much which he knew nothing about would be required of him, and he did everything that he was told to do, and all this served to increase his joy. He imagined that his engagement would not be in the least like others; that the ordinary conditions of an engagement would destroy his especial happiness. But it came about that he did exactly as everybody else did in such cases, and his happiness for this very reason kept increasing and grew more and more peculiar and did not change, and was in no respect like that of other men.
"Now," said Mademoiselle Linon, "we shall have all the candy we wish for;" and Levin ran to buy candy.
"Well, very glad!" said Sviazhsky. "I advise you to get your bouquets at Fomin's."
"Do you?" said Levin; and he went to Fomin's.
His brother told him he would have to borrow money, because there would be many expenses for presents and other things.
"For presents? Really?" and he started off on the run to buy jewelry at Fulda's.
At the confectioner's, at Fomin's, at Fulda's, he found that every one expected him, and every one seemed glad and rejoiced in his happiness, as did every one with whom he had to do those days. It was an extraordinary thing that not only did they all love him, but, strange as it may seem, even those who before had ​seemed cold, unsympathetic, and indifferent approved of him in every way, treated his feelings with delicacy and gentleness, and shared his convictions that he was the happiest man in the world, because his "bride" was the pink of perfection.
Kitty also had the same feeling.
When the Countess Nordstone alluded to the more brilliant hopes that she had conceived for her friend, Kitty became angry, and declared so vehemently that no one in the world could be better than Levin, that the countess had to confess it, and when Kitty was present she never met Levin without smiling enthusiastically.
The confession which he had promised was a very trying incident of this period. He consulted the old prince, and, acting on his advice. Levin gave Kitty his journal in which were written out all the matters that troubled him. He had written this diary purposely to show to the one whom he should marry. Two things tormented him: his sins against virtue and his unbelief.
The confession of his unbelief passed almost unnoticed. She was religious and had never doubted the truths of her religion, but her lover's superficial skepticism did not trouble her very much. She knew through love his whole soul and in his soul she found all that she wanted. It was of little importance to her that he termed the state of his soul incredulity. But the second acknowledgment caused her to shed bitter tears.
Levin had a great struggle with himself before he decided to let her read his diary. He knew that between him and her there could be and should be no secrets, and therefore he resolved that he must do it; but he did not realize what an effect it would have on a young girl.
​"Take back these terrible papers, take them back!" she said, pushing away the sheets lying on the table. "Why did you give them to me? However, perhaps it was for the best," she added, seized with pity at the sight of Levin's despairing face. "But it is terrible, terrible!"
He hung his head, and had nothing to say.
"You will not forgive me!" he murmured.
"Yes, I have forgiven you; but it is terrible!"
However, his happiness was so immense that this confession did not diminish it, but only served to add a shade more to it. She forgave him. From that time he counted himself still more unworthy of her; morally, he bowed down still lower before her and treasured the happiness that he had gained still higher. He understood the worth of it still better after this pardon.