Anna was already at home. When Vronsky went up to her, she was in the same dress she had worn at the theater. She was sitting in the first armchair against the wall, looking straight before her. She looked at him, and at once resumed her former position.

`Anna,' he said.

`You, you are to blame for everything!' she cried, with tears of despair and hatred in her voice, getting up.

`I begged, I implored you not to go; I knew it would be unpleasant...'

`Unpleasant?' she cried. `Hideous! As long as I live I shall never forget it. She said it was a disgrace to sit beside me.'

`A silly woman's chatter,' he said, `but why risk it, why provoke?...'

`I hate your calm. You ought not to have brought me to this. If you had loved me...'

`Anna! How does the question of my love come in?...'

`Oh, if you loved me, as I love, if you were tortured as I am...' she said, looking at him with an expression of terror.

He was sorry for her, and angry notwithstanding. He assured her of his love because he saw that this was the only means of soothing her, and he did not reproach her in words, but in his heart he reproached her.

And the asseverations of his love, which seemed to him so trivial that he was ashamed to utter them, she drank in eagerly, and gradually became calmer. The next day, completely reconciled, they left for the country.