"Here you are at last!" she observed, holding out her hand to
him.
He kissed her hand and sat down beside her.
"Altogether then, I see your visit was a success," he said to
her.
"Oh, yes," she said, and she began telling him about everything
from the beginning: her journey with Countess Vronskaya, her
arrival, the accident at the station. Then she described the
pity she had felt, first for her brother, and afterwards for
Dolly.
"I imagine one cannot exonerate such a man from blame, though he
is your brother," said Alexey Alexandrovitch severely.
Anna smiled. She knew that he said that simply to show that
family considerations could not prevent him from expressing his
genuine opinion. She knew that characteristic in her husband,
and liked it.
"I am glad it has all ended so satisfactorily, and that you are
back again," he went on. "Come, what do they say about the new
act I have got passed in the council?"
Anna had heard nothing of this act, And she felt
conscience-stricken at having been able so readily to forget what
was to him of such importance.
"Here, on the other hand, it has made a great sensation," he
said, with a complacent smile.
She saw that Alexey Alexandrovitch wanted to tell her something
pleasant to him about it, and she brought him by questions to
telling it. With the same complacent smile he told her of the
ovations he had received in consequence of the act he had
passed.
"I was very, very glad. It shows that at last a reasonable and
steady view of the matter is becoming prevalent among us."
Having drunk his second cup of tea with cream, and bread, Alexey
Alexandrovitch got up, and was going towards his study.
"And you've not been anywhere this evening? You've been dull, I
expect?" he said.
"Oh, no!" she answered, getting up after him and accompanying him
across the room to his study. "What are you reading now?" she
asked.
"Just now I'm reading Duc de Lille, _Poésie des Enfers,_"
he answered. "A very remarkable book."
Anna smiled, as people smile at the weaknesses of those they
love, and, putting her hand under his, she escorted him to the
door of the study. She knew his habit, that had grown into a
necessity, of reading in the evening. She knew, too, that in
spite of his official duties, which swallowed up almost the whole
of his time, he considered it his duty to keep up with everything
of note that appeared in the intellectual world. She knew, too,
that he was really interested in books dealing with politics,
philosophy, and theology, that art was utterly foreign to his
nature; but, in spite of this, or rather, in consequence of it,
Alexey Alexandrovitch never passed over anything in the world of
art, but made it his duty to read everything. She knew that in
politics, in philosophy, in theology, Alexey Alexandrovitch often
had doubts, and made investigations; but on questions of art and
poetry, and, above all, of music, of which he was totally devoid
of understanding, he had the most distinct and decided opinions.
He was fond of talking about Shakespeare, Raphael, Beethoven, of
the significance of new schools of poetry and music, all of which
were classified by him with very conspicuous consistency.