Alexey Alexandrovitch knit his brows at Betsy’s name.

“Oh, I’m not going to separate the inseparables,” he said in his usual bantering tone.  “I’m going with Mihail Vassilievitch.  I’m ordered exercise by the doctors too.  I’ll walk, and fancy myself at the springs again.”

“There’s no hurry,” said Anna.  “Would you like tea?”

She rang.

“Bring in tea, and tell Seryozha that Alexey Alexandrovitch is here.  Well, tell me, how have you been?  Mihail Vassilievitch, you’ve not been to see me before.  Look how lovely it is out on the terrace,” she said, turning first to one and then to the other.

She spoke very simply and naturally, but too much and too fast.  She was the more aware of this from noticing in the inquisitive look Mihail Vassilievitch turned on her that he was, as it were, keeping watch on her.

Mihail Vassilievitch promptly went out on the terrace.

She sat down beside her husband.

“You don’t look quite well,” she said.

“Yes,” he said; “the doctor’s been with me today and wasted an hour of my time.  I feel that some one of our friends must have sent him:  my health’s so precious, it seems.”

“No; what did he say?”

She questioned him about his health and what he had been doing, and tried to persuade him to take a rest and come out to her.

All this she said brightly, rapidly, and with a peculiar brilliance in her eyes.  But Alexey Alexandrovitch did not now attach any special significance to this tone of hers.  He heard only her words and gave them only the direct sense they bore.  And he answered simply, though jestingly.  There was nothing remarkable in all this conversation, but never after could Anna recall this brief scene without an agonizing pang of shame.

Seryozha came in preceded by his governess.  If Alexey Alexandrovitch had allowed himself to observe he would have noticed the timid and bewildered eyes with which Seryozha glanced first at his father and then at his mother.  But he would not see anything, and he did not see it.

“Ah, the young man!  He’s grown.  Really, he’s getting quite a man.  How are you, young man?”

And he gave his hand to the scared child.  Seryozha had been shy of his father before, and now, ever since Alexey Alexandrovitch had taken to calling him young man, and since that insoluble question had occurred to him whether Vronsky were a friend or a foe, he avoided his father.  He looked round towards his mother as though seeking shelter.  It was only with his mother that he was at ease.  Meanwhile, Alexey Alexandrovitch was holding his son by the shoulder while he was speaking to the governess, and Seryozha was so miserably uncomfortable that Anna saw he was on the point of tears.

Anna, who had flushed a little the instant her son came in, noticing that Seryozha was uncomfortable, got up hurriedly, took Alexey Alexandrovitch’s hand from her son’s shoulder, and kissing the boy, led him out onto the terrace, and quickly came back.