`He hates me, that's clear,' she thought, and in silence, without looking round, she walked with faltering steps out of the room. `He loves another woman, that's even clearer,' she said to herself as she went into her own room. `I want love, and there is none. So, then, all is at an end,' she repeated the words she had said, `and it must be put to an end.'

`But how?' she asked herself, and she sat down in a low chair before the looking glass.

Thoughts of where she would go now, whether to the aunt who had brought her up, to Dolly, or simply alone, abroad, and of what he was doing now alone in his study; whether this was the final quarrel, or whether reconciliation were still possible; and of what all her old friends at Peterburg would say of her now; and of how Alexei Alexandrovich would look at it, and many other ideas of what would happen now after the rupture, came into her head; but she did not give herself up to them with all her heart. At the bottom of her heart was some obscure idea that alone interested her, but she could not get clear sight of it. Thinking once more of Alexei Alexandrovich, she recalled the time of her illness after her confinement, and the feeling which never left her at that time. `Why didn't I die?' she recalled the words and the feeling of that time. And all at once she knew what was in her soul. Yes, it was that idea which alone solved all. `Yes, to die!...'

`And the shame and disgrace of Alexei Alexandrovich and of Seriozha, and my awful shame - death will be the salvation of everything. To die! And he will feel remorse; will be sorry; will love me; he will suffer on my account.' With a fixed smile of commiseration for herself she sat down in the armchair, taking off and putting on the rings on her left hand, vividly picturing from different sides his feelings after her death.

Approaching footsteps - his steps - distracted her attention. As though absorbed in the arrangement of her rings, she did not even turn to him.

He went up to her, and taking her by the hand, said softly:

`Anna, we'll go the day after tomorrow, if you like. I agree to everything.'

She did not speak.

`What is it?' he urged.

`You know,' she said, and at the same instant, unable to restrain herself any longer, she burst into sobs.

`Cast me off - do!' - she articulated between her sobs. `I'll go away tomorrow.... I'll do more than that. What am I? A depraved woman! A stone round your neck. I don't want to make you wretched; I don't want to! I'll set you free. You don't love me; you love someone else!'

Vronsky besought her to be calm, and declared that there was no trace of foundation for her jealousy; that he had never ceased, and never would cease, to love her; that he loved her more than ever.

`Anna, why distress yourself and me so?' he said to her, kissing her hands. There was tenderness now in his face, and she fancied she caught the sound of tears in his voice, and she felt them wet on her hand. And instantly Anna's despairing jealousy changed to a despairing passion of tenderness. She put her arms round him, and covered with kisses his head, his neck, his hands.