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‘He’s not a man, not a human being, he’s a puppet! Nobody else knows it, but I do. Oh, if I were in his place, I’d have killed a wife like me long ago, I’d have torn her to pieces, I wouldn’t say to her: “Ma chère Anna”. He’s not a man, he’s an administrative machine. He doesn’t understand that I’m your wife, that he’s a stranger, that he’s superfluous ... Let’s not, let’s not talk! ...’

‘You’re not right, not right, my love,’ said Vronsky, trying to calm her. ‘But never mind, let’s not talk about him. Tell me, what have you been doing? What’s wrong with you? What is this illness and what did the doctor say?’

She looked at him with mocking delight. Apparently she had found other ridiculous and ugly sides in her husband and was waiting for the moment to come out with them.

But he went on:

‘My guess is that it’s not illness but your condition. When is it to be?’ The mocking gleam in her eyes went out, but a different smile - of the knowledge of something he did not know and of a quiet sadness - replaced her former expression.

‘Soon, soon. You said our situation is tormenting and we must resolve it. If you knew how painful it is for me, and what I would have given to be able to love you freely and boldly! I wouldn’t be tormented and wouldn’t torment you with my jealousy ... And soon it will be so, but not the way we think.’

And at the thought of how it would be, she seemed so pitiful to herself that tears came to her eyes and she could not go on. She laid her hand, shining under the lamp with its rings and whiteness, on his sleeve.

‘It will not be the way we think. I didn’t want to tell you that, but you made me. Soon, soon everything will be resolved, we’ll all, all be at peace and no longer tormented.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, understanding her.

‘You asked me when? Soon. And I won’t survive it. Don’t interrupt me!’ and she began speaking hurriedly. ‘I know this and know it for certain. I will die, and I’m very glad that I will die and deliver myself and you.’

Tears flowed from her eyes. He bent to her hand and began to kiss it, trying to conceal his anxiety, which he knew had no grounds, but which he was unable to control.

‘There, that’s better,’ she said, pressing his hand with a strong movement. ‘That is the one thing, the one thing left to us.’

He recovered and raised his head.

‘What nonsense! What meaningless nonsense you’re saying!’

‘No, it’s true.’

‘What, what is true?’

‘That I will die. I had a dream.’

‘A dream?’ Vronsky repeated and instantly recalled the muzhik in his dream.

‘Yes, a dream,’ she said. ‘I had this dream long ago. I dreamed that I ran into my bedroom, that I had to get something there, to find something out - you know how it happens in dreams,’ she said, her eyes wide with horror, ‘and there was something standing in the bedroom, in the corner.’

‘Ah, what nonsense! How can you believe ...’

But she would not let herself be interrupted. What she was saying was much too important for her.

‘And this something turned, and I saw it was a muzhik with a dishevelled beard, small and frightening. I wanted to run away, but he bent over a sack and rummaged in it with his hands ...’

And she showed how he rummaged in the sack. There was horror in her face. And Vronsky, recalling his dream, felt the same horror filling his soul.

‘He rummages and mutters in French, very quickly, and rolling the rs in his throat, you know: “// faut le battre le fer, le broyer, le pétrir ...”af And I was so frightened that I wanted to wake up, and I woke up ... but I woke up in a dream. And I wondered what it meant. And Kornei says to me: “You’ll die in childbirth, dear, in childbirth ...” And I woke up ...’

‘What nonsense, what nonsense!’ Vronsky was saying, aware himself that there was no conviction in his voice.

‘But let’s not talk. Ring the bell, I’ll order tea to be served. Wait, now, it won’t be long, I ...’

But suddenly she stopped. The expression on her face changed instantly. Terror and anxiety suddenly gave way to an expression of