ANNA KARENINA (Collector's Edition). Leo Tolstoy

are two sides to it,’ continued Karenin, ‘that of the performers and that of the spectators. The love of such spectacles is the surest proof of low development in the onlookers, I admit, but …’

      ‘Princess, a bet!’ came the voice of Oblonsky from below, addressing Betsy. ‘Whom are you backing?’

      ‘Anna and I are betting on Kuzovlev,’ replied Betsy.

      ‘And I on Vronsky. A pair of gloves?’

      ‘All right.’

      ‘What a fine scene, is it not?’

      Karenin was silent while others were speaking near him, but began again immediately.

      ‘I agree that unmanly sports …’ he was continuing. But at that moment the race began and all conversation ceased, Karenin was silent too, as everybody rose and turned their eyes toward the stream. Karenin was not interested in races and therefore did not watch the riders, but began absent-mindedly looking at the spectators with his weary eyes. His gaze rested on Anna.

      Her face was pale and stern. She evidently saw nothing and nobody, with one exception. Her hand convulsively grasped her fan, and she did not breathe. He looked at her and hurriedly turned away, scrutinizing other faces.

      ‘Yes, that lady — and those others — are very excited too; it is quite natural,’ he said to himself. He did not wish to look at her, but his eyes were involuntarily drawn toward her. He again watched her face, trying not to read what was so plainly written on it, but against his will he read in it with horror that which he did not want to know.

      The first fall — Kuzovlev’s at the stream — excited every one, but Karenin saw clearly by Anna’s pale, triumphant face that he whom she was watching had not fallen. When after Makhotin and Vronsky had jumped the big barrier the officer following them fell on his head and swooned, a murmur of horror passed through the whole crowd; but Karenin saw that Anna did not even notice the fall and with difficulty understood what those around her were talking about. He looked at her more and more often, and more intently. Anna, though fully engrossed by the sight of the galloping Vronsky, became aware of the cold eyes of her husband bent upon her from one side.

      She glanced for an instant at him with a look of inquiry, and, slightly frowning, turned away again.

      ‘Oh, I don’t care,’ she seemed to say to him, and then did not once look at him again.

      The steeplechase was unlucky: more than half of the seventeen officers were thrown and hurt. By the end of the race every one was disturbed, and this disturbance was increased by the fact that the Emperor was displeased.

      Chapter 29

      EVERY one was loudly expressing disapproval and repeating the words some one had uttered: ‘They will have gladiators and lions next,’ and every one was feeling the horror of it, so that when Vronsky fell and Anna gave a loud exclamation, there was nothing remarkable about it. But afterwards a change came over Anna’s face which was positively improper. She quite lost self-control. She began to flutter like a captive bird, now rising to go, now addressing Betsy.

      ‘Let us go!’ she said.

      But Betsy did not hear her. She was leaning over to speak to a General who was below.

      Karenin approached Anna and politely offered her his arm.

      ‘Come, if you like,’ he said in French; but Anna listened to what the General was saying and did not notice her husband.

      ‘He too has broken his leg, they say. It’s too bad,’ the General said.

      Anna, without replying to her husband, raised her glasses and looked toward the spot where Vronsky had fallen; but it was so far off and so many people had crowded there, that it was impossible to distinguish anything. She put down her glasses and was about to go; but at that moment an officer galloped up and reported something to the Emperor. Anna bent forward to listen.

      ‘Stiva! Stiva!’ she called to her brother.

      But he did not hear her. She was again on the point of going.

      ‘I again offer you my arm if you wish to go,’ said her husband touching her arm. With a look of repulsion she drew back, and without looking at him replied:

      ‘No, no, leave me alone, I shall stay here.’

      She now saw an officer running to the Grand Stand from the place where Vronsky had fallen. Betsy waved her handkerchief to him. The officer brought the news that the rider was unhurt but that the horse had broken its back.

      On hearing this Anna quickly sat down and hid her face behind her fan. Karenin saw that she was crying, and that she was unable to keep back either her tears or the sobs that made her bosom heave. He stepped forward so as to screen her, giving her time to recover.

      ‘For the third time I offer you my arm,’ he said after a while, turning toward her. Anna looked at him and did not know what to say. The Princess Betsy came to her aid.

      ‘No, Alexis Alexandrovich,’ she put in, ‘I brought Anna here and I have promised to take her back again.’

      ‘Excuse me, Princess,’ he said, smiling politely but looking her firmly in the eyes, ‘but I see that Anna is not very well, and I wish her to come with me.’

      Anna looked round with alarm, rose obediently and put her hand on her husband’s arm.

      ‘I will send to him and find out, and will let you know,’ Betsy whispered to her.

      On leaving the stand Karenin as usual spoke to people he met, and Anna as usual had to reply and make conversation: but she was beside herself and walked as in a dream, holding her husband’s arm.

      ‘Is he hurt or not? Is it true? Will he come or not? Shall I see him tonight?’ she thought.

      In silence she took her place in her husband’s carriage, and in silence they drove out of the crowd of vehicles. In spite of all he had seen, Karenin would still not allow himself to think of his wife’s real position. He only saw the external sights. He saw that she had behaved with impropriety and he considered it his duty to tell her so. But it was very difficult for him to say that and nothing more. He opened his mouth to say that she had behaved improperly, but involuntarily said something quite different.

      ‘After all, how inclined we all are to these cruel spectacles,’ he said. ‘I notice …’

      ‘What? I do not understand,’ said Anna contemptuously.

      He was offended and at once began to tell her what he wanted to.

      ‘I must tell you …’ he said.

      ‘It’s coming — the explanation!’ she thought and felt frightened.

      ‘I must tell you that you behaved improperly to-day,’ he said in French.

      ‘How did I behave improperly?’ she said aloud, quickly turning her head and looking him straight in the eyes, now without any of the former deceptive gaiety but with a determined air beneath which she had difficulty in hiding the fright she felt.

      ‘Don’t forget,’ said he to her, pointing at the open window behind the coachman’s box; and, slightly rising, he lifted the window.

      ‘What did you consider improper?’ she asked again.

      ‘The despair you were unable to conceal when one of the riders fell.’

      He expected a rejoinder from her; but she remained silent, looking straight before her.

      ‘I asked you