Part Six: Chapter 3

by Leo Tolstoy

　　Kitty was particularly glad of a chance of being alone with herhusband, for she had noticed the shade of mortification thathad passed over his face--always so quick to reflect everyfeeling--at the moment when he had come onto the terrace andasked what they were talking of, and had got no answer.

　　When they had set off on foot ahead of the others, and had comeout of sight of the house onto the beaten dusty road, marked withrusty wheels and sprinkled with grains of corn, she clung fasterto his arm and pressed it closer to her. He had quite forgottenthe momentary unpleasant impression, and alone with her he felt,now that the thought of her approaching motherhood was never fora moment absent from his mind, a new and delicious bliss, quitepure from all alloy of sense, in the being near to the woman heloved. There was no need of speech, yet he longed to hear thesound of her voice, which like her eyes had changed since she hadbeen with child. In her voice, as in her eyes, there was thatsoftness and gravity which is found in people continuallyconcentrated on some cherished pursuit.

　　"So you're not tired? Lean more on me," said he.

　　"No, I'm so glad of a chance of being alone with you, and I mustown, though I'm happy with them, I do regret our winter eveningsalone."

　　"That was good, but this is even better. Both are better," hesaid, squeezing her hand.

　　"Do you know what we were talking about when you came in?"

　　"About jam?"

　　"Oh, yes, about jam too; but afterwards, about how men makeoffers."

　　"Ah!" said Levin, listening more to the sound of her voice thanto the words she was saying, and all the while paying attentionto the road, which passed now through the forest, and avoidingplaces where she might make a false step.

　　"And about Sergey Ivanovitch and Varenka. You've noticed?...I'm very anxious for it," she went on. "What do you think aboutit?" And she peeped into his face.

　　"I don't know what to think," Levin answered, smiling. "Sergeyseems very strange to me in that way. I told you, you know..."

　　"Yes, that he was in love with that girl who died...."

　　"That was when I was a child; I know about it from hearsay andtradition. I remember him then. He was wonderfully sweet. ButI've watched him since with women; he is friendly, some of themhe likes, but one feels that to him they're simply people, notwomen."

　　"Yes, but now with Varenka...I fancy there's something..."

　　"Perhaps there is.... But one has to know him.... He's apeculiar, wonderful person. He lives a spiritual life only.He's too pure, too exalted a nature."

　　"Why? Would this lower him, then?"

　　"No, but he's so used to a spiritual life that he can't reconcilehimself with actual fact, and Varenka is after all fact."

　　Levin had grown used by now to uttering his thought boldly,without taking the trouble of clothing it in exact language. Heknew that his wife, in such moments of loving tenderness as now,would understand what he meant to say from a hint, and she didunderstand him.

　　"Yes, but there's not so much of that actual fact about her asabout me. I can see that he would never have cared for me. Sheis altogether spiritual."

　　"Oh, no, he is so fond of you, and I am always so glad when mypeople like you...."

　　"Yes, he's very nice to me; but..."

　　"It's not as it was with poor Nikolay...you really cared foreach other," Levin finished. "Why not speak of him?" he added."I sometimes blame myself for not; it ends in one's forgetting.Ah, how terrible and dear he was!... Yes, what were we talkingabout?" Levin said, after a pause.

　　"You think he can't fall in love," said Kitty, translating intoher own language.

　　"It's not so much that he can't fall in love," Levin said,smiling, "but he has not the weakness necessary.... I've alwaysenvied him, and even now, when I'm so happy, I still envy him."

　　"You envy him for not being able to fall in love?"

　　"I envy him for being better than I," said Levin. "He does notlive for himself. His whole life is subordinated to his duty.And that's why he can be calm and contented."

　　"And you?" Kitty asked, with an ironical and loving smile.

　　She could never have explained the chain of thought that made hersmile; but the last link in it was that her husband, in exaltinghis brother and abasing himself, was not quite sincere. Kittyknew that this insincerity came from his love for his brother,from his sense of shame at being too happy, and above all fromhis unflagging craving to be better--she loved it in him, and soshe smiled.

　　"And you? What are you dissatisfied with?" she asked, with thesame smile.

　　Her disbelief in his self-dissatisfaction delighted him, andunconsciously he tried to draw her into giving utterance to thegrounds of her disbelief.

　　"I am happy, but dissatisfied with myself..." he said.

　　"Why, how can you be dissatisfied with yourself if you arehappy?"

　　"Well, how shall I say?... In my heart I really care for nothingwhatever but that you should not stumble--see? Oh, but reallyyou mustn't skip about like that!" he cried, breaking off toscold her for too agile a movement in stepping over a branch thatlay in the path. "But when I think about myself, and comparemyself with others, especially with my brother, I feel I'm a poorcreature."

　　"But in what way?" Kitty pursued with the same smile. "Don't youtoo work for others? What about your co-operative settlement,and your work on the estate, and your book?..."

　　"Oh, but I feel, and particularly just now--it's your fault," hesaid, pressing her hand--"that all that doesn't count. I do itin a way halfheartedly. If I could care for all that as I carefor you!... Instead of that, I do it in these days like a taskthat is set me."

　　"Well, what would you say about papa?" asked Kitty. "Is he apoor creature then, as he does nothing for the public good?"

　　"He?--no! But then one must have the simplicity, thestraightforwardness, the goodness of your father: and I haven'tgot that. I do nothing, and I fret about it. It's all yourdoing. Before there was you--and this too," he added with aglance towards her waist that she understood-- "I put all myenergies into work; now I can't, and I'm ashamed; I do it just asthough it were a task set me, I'm pretending...."

　　"Well, but would you like to change this minute with SergeyIvanovitch?" said Kitty. "Would you like to do this work for thegeneral good, and to love the task set you, as he does, andnothing else?"

　　"Of course not," said Levin. "But I'm so happy that I don'tunderstand anything. So you think he'll make her an offertoday?" he added after a brief silence.

　　"I think so, and I don't think so. Only, I'm awfully anxious forit. Here, wait a minute." she stooped down and picked a wildcamomile at the edge of the path. "Come, count: he does propose,he doesn't," she said, giving him the flower.

　　"He does, he doesn't," said Levin, tearing off the white petals.

　　"No, no!" Kitty, snatching at his hand, stopped him. She hadbeen watching his fingers with interest. "You picked off two."

　　"Oh, but see, this little one shan't count to make up," saidLevin, tearing off a little half-grown petal. "Here's thewagonette overtaking us."

　　"Aren't you tired, Kitty?" called the princess.

　　"Not in the least."

　　"If you are you can get in, as the horses are quiet and walking."

　　But it was not worth while to get in, they were quite near theplace, and all walked on together.