`You said, my dear, that it would depend on Alexei Alexandrovich,' Betsy corrected her.

`Oh, no, I can't receive him; and what object would there be in...' She stopped suddenly, and glanced inquiringly at her husband (he did not look at her). `In short, I don't wish it....'

Alexei Alexandrovich advanced and would have taken her hand.

Her first impulse was to jerk back her hand from the damp hand with big swollen veins that sought hers, but with an obvious effort to control herself she pressed his hand.

`I am very grateful to you for your confidence, but...' he said, feeling with confusion and annoyance that what he could decide easily and clearly by himself, he could not discuss before Princess Tverskaia, who to him stood for the incarnation of that brute force which would inevitably control him in the life he led in the eyes of the world, and hinder him from giving way to his feeling of love and forgiveness. He stopped short, looking at Princess Tverskaia.

`Well, good-by, my darling,' said Betsy, getting up. She kissed Anna, and went out. Alexei Alexandrovich escorted her out.

`Alexei Alexandrovich! I know you are a truly magnanimous man,' said Betsy, stopping in the little drawing room, and with special warmth shaking hands with him once more. `I am an outsider, but I love her so, and respect you, that I venture to advise. Receive him. Alexei Vronsky is the soul of honor, and he is going away to Tashkend.'

`Thank you, Princess, for your sympathy and advice. But the question of whether my wife can or cannot see anyone she must decide herself.'

He said this from habit, lifting his brows with dignity, and reflected immediately that whatever his words might be, there could be no dignity in his position. And he saw this by the suppressed, malicious, and ironical smile with which Betsy glanced at him after this phrase.