so I don’t want happiness, I don’t want a divorce, and shall suffer from my shame and the separation from my child.”  But, however sincerely Anna had meant to suffer, she was not suffering.  Shame there was not.  With the tact of which both had such a large share, they had succeeded in avoiding Russian ladies abroad, and so had never placed themselves in a false position, and everywhere they had met people who pretended that they perfectly understood their position, far better indeed than they did themselves.  Separation from the son she loved—­even that did not cause her anguish in these early days.  The baby girl—­his child—­was so sweet, and had so won Anna’s heart, since she was all that was left her, that Anna rarely thought of her son.

The desire for life, waxing stronger with recovered health, was so intense, and the conditions of life were so new and pleasant, that Anna felt unpardonably happy.  The more she got to know Vronsky, the more she loved him.  She loved him for himself, and for his love for her.  Her complete ownership of him was a continual joy to her.  His presence was always sweet to her.  All the traits of his character, which she learned to know better and better, were unutterably dear to her.  His appearance, changed by his civilian dress, was as fascinating to her as though she were some young girl in love.  In everything he said, thought, and did, she saw something particularly noble and elevated.  Her adoration of him alarmed her indeed; she sought and could not find in him anything not fine.  She dared not show him her sense of her own insignificance beside him.  It seemed to her that, knowing this, he might sooner cease to love her; and she dreaded nothing now so much as losing his love, though she had no grounds for fearing it.  But she could not help being grateful to him for his attitude to her, and showing that she appreciated it.  He, who had in her opinion such a marked aptitude for a political career, in which he would have been certain to play a leading part—­he had sacrificed his ambition for her sake, and never betrayed the slightest regret.  He was more lovingly respectful to her than ever, and the constant care that she should not feel the awkwardness of her position never deserted him for a single instant.  He, so manly a man, never opposed her, had indeed, with her, no will of his own, and was anxious, it seemed, for nothing but to anticipate her wishes.  And she could not but appreciate this, even though the very intensity of his solicitude for her, the atmosphere of care with which he surrounded her, sometimes weighed upon her.