‘Questions about her feelings, about what has been or might be going on in her soul, are none of my business; they are the business of her conscience and belong to religion,’ he said to himself, feeling relieved at the awareness that he had found the legitimate category to which the arisen circumstance belonged.
‘And so,’ Alexei Alexandrovich said to himself, ‘questions of her feelings and so on are questions of her conscience, which can be no business of mine. My duty is then clearly defined. As head of the family, I am the person whose duty it is to guide her and am therefore in part the person responsible: I must point out the danger I see, caution her, and even use authority. I must speak out to her.’
And in Alexei Alexandrovich’s head everything he would presently say to his wife took clear shape. Thinking over what he would say, he regretted that he had to put his time and mental powers to such inconspicuous domestic use; but, in spite of that, the form and sequence of the imminent speech took shape in his head clearly and distinctly, like a report. ‘I must say and speak out the following: first, an explanation of the meaning of public opinion and propriety; second, a religious explanation of the meaning of marriage; third, if necessary, an indication of the possible unhappiness for our son; fourth, an indication of her own unhappiness.’ And, interlacing his fingers, palms down, Alexei Alexandrovich stretched so that the joints cracked.
This gesture, a bad habit - joining his hands and cracking his fingers - always calmed him down and brought him to precision, which he had such need of now. There was the sound of a carriage driving up by the entrance. Alexei Alexandrovich stopped in the middle of the drawing room.
A woman’s footsteps came up the stairs. Alexei Alexandrovich, prepared for his speech, stood pressing his crossed fingers, seeing whether there might be another crack somewhere. One joint cracked.
By the sound of light footsteps on the stairs he could already sense her approach and, though he was pleased with his speech, he felt afraid of the imminent talk ...
IX
Anna was walking with her head bowed, playing with the tassels of her hood. Her face glowed with a bright glow; but this glow was not happy - it was like the terrible glow of a fire on a dark night. Seeing her husband, Anna raised her head and, as if waking up, smiled.
‘You’re not in bed? What a wonder!’ she said, threw off her hood and, without stopping, went on into her dressing room. ‘It’s late, Alexei Alexandrovich,’ she said from behind the door.
‘Anna, I must have a talk with you.’
‘With me?’ she said in surprise, stepping out from behind the door and looking at him.
‘Yes.’
‘What’s the matter? What is it about?’ she asked, sitting down. ‘Well, let’s have a talk, if it’s so necessary. But it would be better to go to sleep.’
Anna said whatever came to her tongue, and was surprised, listening to herself, at her ability to lie. How simple, how natural her words were, and how it looked as if she simply wanted to sleep! She felt herself clothed in an impenetrable armour of lies. She felt that some invisible force was helping her and supporting her.
‘Anna, I must warn you,’ he said.
‘Warn me?’ she said. ‘About what?’
She looked at him so simply, so gaily, that no one who did not know her as her husband did could have noticed anything unnatural either in the sound or in the meaning of her words. But for him who knew her, who knew that when he went to bed five minutes late, she noticed it and asked the reason, who knew that she told him at once her every joy, happiness, or grief — for him it meant a great deal to see now that she did not want to notice his state or say a word about herself. He saw that the depth of her soul, formerly always open to him, was now closed to him. Moreover, by her tone he could tell that she was not embarrassed by it, but was as if saying directly to him: yes, it’s closed, and so it ought to be and will be in the future. He now felt the way a man would feel coming home and finding his house locked up. ‘But perhaps the key will still be found,’ thought Alexei Alexandrovich.
‘I want to warn you,’ he said in a low voice, ‘that by indiscretion and light-mindedness you may give society occasion to talk about you. Your much too animated conversation tonight with Count Vronsky’ (he articulated this name firmly and with calm measuredness) attracted attention.’
He spoke and looked at her laughing eyes, now frightening to him in their impenetrability, and as he spoke he felt all the uselessness and idleness of his words.
‘You’re always like that,’ she replied, as if she had not understood him at all and had deliberately grasped only the last thing he had said. ‘First you’re displeased when I’m bored, then you’re displeased when I’m merry. I wasn’t bored. Does that offend you?’
Alexei Alexandrovich gave a start and bent his hands in order to crack them.
‘Ah, please don’t crack them, I dislike it so,’ she said.
