`Is there anyone we have not met? My wife and I are like white wolves - everyone knows us,' answered Korsunsky. `A waltz, Anna Arkadyevna?'

`I don't dance whenever it's possible not to,' she said.

`But tonight it's impossible,' answered Korsunsky.

During the conversation Vronsky was approaching them.

`Well, since it's impossible tonight, let us start,' she said, not noticing Vronsky's bow, and hastily put her hand on Korsunsky's shoulder.

`What is she vexed with him about?' thought Kitty, discerning that Anna had intentionally not responded to Vronsky's bow. Vronsky went up to Kitty, reminding her of the first quadrille, and expressing his regret at not having seen her all this time. Kitty gazed in admiration at Anna waltzing, as she listened to him. She expected him to ask her for a waltz, but he did not, and she glanced wonderingly at him. He flushed, and hurriedly asked her to waltz, but he had barely put his arm round her slender waist and taken the first step when the music suddenly stopped. Kitty looked into his face, which was so close to her own, and long afterward - for several years - this look, full of love, to which he made no response, cut her to the heart with an agony of shame.

`Pardon! Pardon! Waltz! Waltz!' shouted Korsunsky from the other side of the room, and, seizing the first young lady he came across he began dancing.