"And how is she?"

Korney in his morning apron ran downstairs.

"Very ill," he answered. "There was a consultation yesterday,

and the doctor's here now."

"Take my things," said Alexey Alexandrovitch, and feeling some

relief at the news that there was still hope of her death, he

went into the hall.

On the hatstand there was a military overcoat. Alexey

Alexandrovitch noticed it and asked: "Who is here?"

"The doctor, the midwife, and Count Vronsky."

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Alexey Alexandrovitch went into the inner rooms.

In the drawing room there was no one; at the sound of his steps

there came out of her boudoir the midwife in a cap with lilac

ribbons.

She went up to Alexey Alexandrovitch, and with the familiarity

given by the approach of death took him by the arm and drew him

towards the bedroom.

"Thank God you've come! She keeps on about you and nothing but

you," she said.

"Make haste with the ice!" the doctor's peremptory voice said

from the bedroom.

Alexey Alexandrovitch went into her boudoir.

At the table, sitting sideways in a low chair, was Vronsky, his

face hidden in his hands, weeping. He jumped up at the doctor's

voice, took his hands from his face, and saw Alexey

Alexandrovitch. Seeing the husband, he was so overwhelmed that

he sat down again, drawing his head down to his shoulders, as if

he wanted to disappear; but he made an effort over himself, got

up and said: "She is dying. The doctors say there is no hope. I am entirely

in your power, only let me be here...though I am at your

disposal. I..."

Alexey Alexandrovitch, seeing Vronsky's tears, felt a rush of

that nervous emotion always produced in him by the sight of other

people's suffering, and turning away his face, he moved hurriedly

to the door, without hearing the rest of his words. From the

bedroom came the sound of Anna's voice saying something. Her

voice was lively, eager, with exceedingly distinct intonations.

Alexey Alexandrovitch went into the bedroom, and went up to the

bed. She was lying turned with her face towards him. Her cheeks

were flushed crimson, her eyes glittered, her little white hands

thrust out from the sleeves of her dressing gown were playing

with the quilt, twisting it about. It seemed as though she were

not only well and blooming, but in the happiest frame of mind.

She was talking rapidly, musically, and with exceptionally

correct articulation and expressive intonation.

"For Alexey--I am speaking of Alexey Alexandrovitch (what a

strange and awful thing that both are Alexey, isn't it?)--Alexey

would not refuse me. I should forget, he would forgive.... But

why doesn't he come? He's so good he doesn't know himself how

good he is. Ah, my God, what agony! Give me some water, quick!

Oh, that will be bad for her, my little girl! Oh, very well

then, give her to a nurse. Yes, I agree, it's better in fact.

He'll be coming; it will hurt him to see her. Give her to the

nurse."




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