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Chapter 13
After dinner, and till the beginning of the evening, Kitty was feeling a
sensation akin to the sensation of a young man before a battle. Her heat
throbbed violently, and her thoughts would not rest on anything.
She felt that this evening, when they would both meet for the first time,
would be a turning point in her life. And she was continually picturing
them to herself, at one moment each separately, and then both together.
When she mused on the past, she dwelt with pleasure, with tenderness, on
the memories of her relations with Levin. The memories of childhood and
of Levin's friendship with her dead brother gave a special poetic charm to
her relations with him. His love for her, of which she felt certain, was
flattering and delightful to her; and it was pleasant for her to think of Levin.
In her memories of Vronsky there always entered a certain element of
awkwardness, though he was in the highest degree well-bred and at ease, as
though there were some false note--not in Vronsky, he was very simple and
nice, but in herself, while with Levin she felt perfectly simple and clear.
But, on the other hand, directly she thought of the future with Vronsky,
there arose before her a perspective of brilliant happiness; with Levin the
future seemed misty.
When she went upstairs to dress, and looked into the looking-glass, she
noticed with joy that it was one of her good days, and that she was in
complete possession of all her forces,--she needed this so for what lay
before her: she was conscious of external composure and free grace in her
movements.
At half-past seven she had only just gone down into the drawing room,
when the footman announced, "Konstantin Dmitrievitch Levin." The
princess was still in her room, and the prince had not come in. "So it is to
be," thought Kitty, and all the blood seemed to rush to her heart. She was
horrified at her paleness, as she glanced into the looking-glass. At that
moment she knew beyond doubt that he had come early on purpose to find
her alone and to make her an offer. And only then for the first time the
whole thing presented itself in a new, different aspect; only then she
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realized that the question did not affect her only-- with whom she would be
happy, and whom she loved--but that she would have that moment to
wound a man whom she liked. And to wound him cruelly. What for?
Because he, dear fellow, loved her, was in love with her. But there was no
help for it, so it must be, so it would have to be.
"My God! shall I myself really have to say it to him?" she thought. "Can I
tell him I don't love him? That will be a lie. What am I to say to him? That I
love someone else? No, that's impossible. I'm going away, I'm going away."
She had reached the door, when she heard his step. "No! it's not honest.
What have I to be afraid of? I have done nothing wrong. What is to be, will
be! I'll tell the truth. And with him one can't be ill at ease. Here he is," she
said to herself, seeing his powerful, shy figure, with his shining eyes fixed
on her. She looked straight into his face, as thought imploring him to spare
her, and gave her hand.
"It's not time yet; I think I'm too early," he said glancing round the empty
drawing room. When he saw that his expectations were realized, that there
was nothing to prevent him from speaking, his face became gloomy.
"Oh, no," said Kitty, and sat down at the table.
"But this was just what I wanted, to find you alone," be began, not sitting
down, and not looking at her, so as not to lose courage.
"Mamma will be down directly. She was very much tired.... Yesterday..."
She talked on, not knowing what her lips were uttering, and not taking her
supplicating and caressing eyes off him.
He glanced at her; she blushed, and ceased speaking.
"I told you I did not know whether I should be here long...that it depended
on you..."
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She dropped her head lower and lower, not knowing herself what answer
she should make to what was coming.
"That it depended on you," he repeated. "I meant to say...I meant to say...I
came for this...to be my wife!" he brought out, not knowing what he was
saying; but feeling that the most terrible thing was said, he stopped short
and looked at her...
She was breathing heavily, not looking at him. She was feeling ecstasy. Her
soul was flooded with happiness. She had never anticipated that the
utterance of love would produce such a powerful effect on her. But it lasted
only an instant. She remembered Vronsky. She lifted her clear, truthful
eyes, and seeing his desperate face, she answered hastily:
"That cannot be...forgive me."
A moment ago, and how close she had been to him, of what importance in
his life! And how aloof and remote from him she had become now!
"It was bound to be so," he said, not looking at her.
He bowed, and was meaning to retreat.
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