Early in the spring, Anna Karenina’s husband went abroad, according to his annual custom, to take the water-cure after the toils of winter.  Returning in July to St. Petersburg, he at once resumed his official duties with the usual vigour.  Anna had already gone into the country, not far from the capital, to the summer datcha at Peterhof.  Since the pair had failed to come to a mutual understanding coolness had existed, but it was simply a cloud, not an actual alienation.

He resolved for the sake of appearances to visit his wife once a week.  To his astonishment, his doctor called voluntarily on him, to ask if he might examine into the condition of his health.  The secret reason of this was that a kind friend, the Countess Lidia, had begged the doctor to do so, as she had noticed that Aleksei did not look well.  The medical man after the diagnosis was perturbed with the result, for Aleksei’s liver was congested and his digestion was out of order.  The waters had not benefited him.  He was ordered to take more physical exercise and to undergo less mental strain, and above all to avoid all worry.

It was not with real pleasure, but with an affectation of cordiality that Anna received her husband when he reached the datcha.  She was gay and animated.  He was somewhat constrained, and the conversation was without any special interest.  But Anna afterwards could only recall it with real pain.  The crisis came on a racecourse.  One of Vronsky’s chief pleasures was horse-racing, and at the brilliant races that season he himself rode his own splendid horse.  But the occasion was a most disastrous one, for at the hurdle races more than half the riders were thrown, Vronsky being one of them.  He was picked up uninjured, but the horse had its back broken.

Aleksei and his wife and several friends were amongst the gay crowd, and he noted with deep displeasure that his wife turned pale when the accident happened and was strangely excited throughout the occasion.  In the carriage, as the pair returned, he taxed her with her unseemly demeanour, and a violent quarrel ensued, in which she exclaimed, “I love him.  I fear you.  I hate you.  Do as you please with me.”  And Anna flung herself to the bottom of the carriage, covering her face with her hands and sobbing convulsively.

Aleksei sat in silence during the rest of the journey home, but as they came near the house he said, “I insist that from this moment appearances be preserved for the sake of my honour, and I will communicate my decision to you after I have considered what measures I shall take.”  He assisted her to alight at the datcha, shook hands with her in the presence of the servants, and returned to St. Petersburg.

“Thank God, it is all over between us,” said Anna to herself.  But, notwithstanding this reflection, she had felt strangely impressed by the aspect of deathlike rigidity in her husband’s face, though he gave no sign of inward agitation.  As he rode off alone he felt a keen pain in his heart.  But, curiously enough, he also experienced a sensation of deep relief of soul now that a vast load of doubt and jealousy had been lifted from him.