# Anna Karenina (Dole)/Part One/Chapter 31

CHAPTER XXXI
Vronsky also had not even attempted to sleep all that night. He sat in his arm-chair, now gazing straight forward, now looking at those who came in and went out, and if before he had impressed strangers and irritated ​them by his imperturbable dignity, now he would have seemed to them far more haughty and self-contained. He looked at men as if they were things. A nervous young man, employed in the district court, was sitting opposite him in the carriage, and came to hate him on account of this aspect. The young man asked for a light, and spoke to him, and even touched him, in order to make him perceive that he was not a thing but a man; yet Vronsky looked at him exactly as he looked at the carriage-lamp. And the young man made a grimace, feeling that he should lose command of himself to be so scorned by a man.
Vronsky saw nothing, saw no one. He felt as if he were a tsar, not because he believed that he had made an impression upon Anna,—he did not fully realize that, as yet,—but because the impression which she had made on him filled him with happiness and pride.
What would be the outcome of all this he did not know, and did not even consider; but he felt that all his hitherto dissipated and scattered powers were now concentrating and converging with frightful rapidity toward one beatific focus. And he was happy in this thought. He knew only that he had told her the truth when he said he was going where she was, that all the happiness of life, the sole significance of life, he found now in seeing and hearing her. And when he left his compartment at Bologovo to get a glass of seltzer, and he saw Anna, involuntarily his first word told her what he thought. And he was glad that he had spoken as he did; glad that she knew all now, and was thinking about it. He did not sleep all night. Returning to his carriage he did not cease recalling all his memories of her, the words that she had spoken, and in his imagination glowed the pictures of a possible future which overwhelmed his heart.
When, on reaching Petersburg, he left the carriage, after his sleepless night he felt as fresh and vigorous as if he had just had a cold bath. He stood near his carriage, waiting to see her pass. "Once more I shall see her," he said to himself, with a smile. "I shall see her ​graceful bearing, her face; she will speak a word to me, will turn her head, will look at me, perhaps she will smile on me."
But it was her husband whom first he saw, politely escorted through the crowd by the station-master.
"Oh, yes! the husband!"
And then Vronsky for the first time clearly realized that the husband was an important factor in Anna's life. He knew that she had a husband, but he had not realized his existence, and he now fully realized it only as he saw his head and shoulders, and his legs clothed in black trowsers, and especially when he saw this husband unconcernedly take her hand with an air of proprietorship.
When he saw Alekseï Aleksandrovitch with his Petersburgish-fresh face, and his solid, self-confident figure, his round hat, and his slightly stooping shoulders, he began to believe in his existence, and he experienced an unpleasant sensation such as a man tormented by thirst might experience, who should discover a fountain, but find that a dog, a sheep, or a pig has been drinking and fouling the water.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch's stiff and heavy gait was exceedingly distasteful to Vronsky. He would not acknowledge that any one besides himself had the right to love Anna. But she was still the same and the sight of her had still the same effect on him, physically kindling him, stirring him, and filling his heart with joy. He ordered his German body-servant, who came hurrying up to him from the second-class carriage, to see to the baggage and to go home; and he himself went to her. Thus he witnessed the first meeting between husband and wife, and with a lover's intuition, perceived the shade of constraint with which Anna spoke to her husband.
"No, she does not love him, and she cannot love him," was his mental judgment.
Even as he came up to Anna Arkadyevna from behind, he noticed with joy that she felt him near her and looked round, and having recognized him, she went on talking with her husband.
​"Did you pass a good night?" he inquired, bowing to her and her husband and allowing Alekseï Aleksandrovitch the opportunity to accept the honor of the salutation and recognize him or not recognize him as it might seem good to him.
"Thank you, very good," she replied.
Her face expressed weariness, lacked that spark of animation which was generally hovering now in her eyes, now in her smile; but, for a single instant, at the sight of Vronsky, something flashed into her eyes, and, notwithstanding the fact that the fire instantly died away, he was overjoyed even at this. She raised her eyes to her husband, to see whether he knew Vronsky. Alekseï Aleksandrovitch looked at him with displeasure, vaguely remembering who he was. Vronsky's calm self-assurance struck upon Alekseï Aleksandrovitch's cool superciliousness as a scythe strikes a rock.
"Count Vronsky," said Anna.
"Ah! We have met before, it seems to me," said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch with indifference, extending his hand. "Went with the mother, and came home with the son," said he, speaking with precision, as if his words were worth a ruble apiece. "I presume you are returning from a furlough?" And without waiting for an answer, he turned to his wife, in his ironical tone, "Did they shed many tears in Moscow on your leaving them?"
By thus addressing his wife he intended to give Vronsky to understand that he desired to be left alone, and again bowing to him he touched his hat; but Vronsky had one more word to say to Anna.
"I hope to have the honor of calling on you," said he.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, with weary eyes, looked at Vronsky.
"Very happy," he said coldly; "we receive on Mondays."
Then, leaving Vronsky entirely, he said to his wife, still in a jesting tone:—
"And how fortunate that I happened to have a spare ​half-hour to come to meet you, and show you my affection."
"You emphasize your affection too much for me to appreciate it," she replied, in the same spirit of raillery, involuntarily listening to Vronsky's steps behind them. "But what is that to me?" she asked herself in thought. Then she began to ask her husband how Serozha had got along during her absence.
"Oh! excellently. Mariette says that he has been very good, and .... I am sorry to mortify you .... he did not seem to miss you—not so much as your husband did. But again, merci, my dear, that you came a day earlier. Our dear Samovar will be delighted."
He called the celebrated Countess Lidya Ivanovna by the nickname of the Samovar, because, like a tea-urn, she was always and everywhere bubbling and boiling. "She has kept asking after you; and do you know, if I make bold to advise you, you would do well to go to see her to-day. You see, her heart is always sore about something. At present, besides her usual cares, she is greatly concerned about the reconciliation of the Oblonskys."
The Countess Lidya Ivanovna was a friend of Anna's husband, and the center of a certain clique in Petersburg society, to which Anna on her husband's account, rather than for any other reason, belonged.
"Yes! But did n't I write her?"
"She must have all the details. Go to her, my love, if you are not too tired. Well! Kondratu will call your carriage, and I am going to a committee-meeting. I shall not have to dine alone to-day," continued Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, not in jest this time. "You cannot imagine how used I am to .... "
And with a peculiar smile, giving her a long pressure of the hand, he conducted her to the carriage.