In the morning she was waked by a horrible nightmare, which had
recurred several times in her dreams, even before her connection
with Vronsky. A little old man with unkempt beard was doing
something bent down over some iron, muttering meaningless French
words, and she, as she always did in this nightmare (it was what
made the horror of it), felt that this peasant was taking no
notice of her, but was doing something horrible with the iron--
over her. And she waked up in a cold sweat.
When she got up, the previous day came back to her as though
veiled in mist.
"There was a quarrel. Just what has happened several times. I
said I had a headache, and he did not come in to see me.
Tomorrow we're going away; I must see him and get ready for the
journey," she said to herself. And learning that he was in his
study, she went down to him. As she passed through the
drawing room she heard a carriage stop at the entrance, and
looking out of the window she saw the carriage, from which a
young girl in a lilac hat was leaning out giving some direction
to the footman ringing the bell. After a parley in the hall,
someone came upstairs, and Vronsky's steps could be heard passing
the drawing room. He went rapidly downstairs. Anna went again
to the window. She saw him come out onto the steps without his
hat and go up to the carriage. The young girl in the lilac hat
handed him a parcel. Vronsky, smiling, said something to her.
The carriage drove away, he ran rapidly upstairs again.
The mists that had shrouded everything in her soul parted
suddenly. The feelings of yesterday pierced the sick heart with
a fresh pang. She could not understand now how she could have
lowered herself by spending a whole day with him in his house.
She went into his room to announce her determination.
"That was Madame Sorokina and her daughter. They came and
brought me the money and the deeds from maman. I couldn't get
them yesterday. How is your head, better?" he said quietly, not
wishing to see and to understand the gloomy and solemn expression
of her face.
She looked silently, intently at him, standing in the middle of
the room. He glanced at her, frowned for a moment, and went on
reading a letter. She turned, and went deliberately out of the
room. He still might have turned her back, but she had reached
the door, he was still silent, and the only sound audible was the
rustling of the note paper as he turned it.