“I always knew she was without either heart or religion,” said he to himself.  “I made a mistake when I united my life with hers, but I should not be unhappy, for my error was not my fault.  Henceforth for me she does not exist.”  He pondered over the problem whether he should challenge Vronsky, but he soon decided against the idea of fighting a duel.  No one would expect it of him, so his reputation would not be injured by abstaining from such a proceeding.  At length he came to the conclusion that an open separation would not be expedient and that the status quo alone was advisable, on the condition that Anna should obey his will and break off her acquaintance with Vronsky.

“Only thus,” thought Aleksei, “can I conform to the requirements of religion.  I give her another chance, and consecrate my powers to her salvation.”  He wrote his wife a letter saying that for his own sake, for her sake, and the sake of her son, their lives must remain unchanged, the family must not be sacrificed, and as he was sure she felt penitent, he hoped at their next interview to come to a complete understanding.

Though, when she received this communication, Anna felt her anger rising, yet her heart told her that she was in a false position from which she longed to escape.  A new sensation had taken possession of her soul, and she seemed to be a double kind of personality.  At length, after long agitation she wrote to her husband, telling him that she could no longer remain in his house, but was going away, taking their boy Serosha with her.  “Be generous; let me have him,” were the last words in the letter.  She wrote a little note to Vronsky, but her cheeks burned as she wrote, and presently she tore the note to tatters.  Then she made her preparations for going to Moscow.

VII

Anna returned to the home in St. Petersburg.  Husband and wife met with a silent greeting, and the silence lasted some time.  Then ensued an interview in which each side coldly accused the other, but which ended in Aleksei’s demand that his wife should so comport herself that neither the world nor the servants could accuse her, on which condition she could enjoy the position and fulfil the duties of an honourable wife.

And so the Kareninas continued to live in the same house, to meet daily, and yet to remain strangers to each other.  Vronsky was never seen near the place, yet Anna met him elsewhere and Aleksei knew it.

Meanwhile, a change was coming over the prospect for Kitty and Levin.  He had never renounced the hope of possessing the beautiful girl, and at length she had come to understand his nobility of character and to feel that she could reciprocate his affection.  During a conversation with her, he watched as she mechanically drew circles with chalk on the table-cloth.

“I have waited for a long time to ask you a question,” said he, looking fondly at her.

“What is it?” said Kitty.