Anna Karenina - Part 8

Agafea Mihalovna went out on tiptoe; the nurse let down the

blind, chased a fly out from under the muslin canopy of the crib,

and a bumblebee struggling on the window-frame, and sat down

waving a faded branch of birch over the mother and the baby.

"How hot it is! if God would send a drop of rain," she said.

"Yes, yes, sh--sh--sh--" was all Kitty answered, rocking a

little, and tenderly squeezing the plump little arm, with rolls

of fat at the wrist, which Mitya still waved feebly as he opened

and shut his eyes. That hand worried Kitty; she longed to kiss

the little hand, but was afraid to for fear of waking the baby.

At last the little hand ceased waving, and the eyes closed. Only

from time to time, as he went on sucking, the baby raised his

long, curly eyelashes and peeped at his mother with wet eyes,

that looked black in the twilight. The nurse had left off

fanning, and was dozing. From above came the peals of the old

prince's voice, and the chuckle of Katavasov.

"They have got into talk without me," thought Kitty, "but still

it's vexing that Kostya's out. He's sure to have gone to the

bee house again. Though it's a pity he's there so often, still

I'm glad. It distracts his mind. He's become altogether happier

and better now than in the spring. He used to be so gloomy and

worried that I felt frightened for him. And how absurd he is!"

she whispered, smiling.

She knew what worried her husband. It was his unbelief.

Although, if she had been asked whether she supposed that in the

future life, if he did not believe, he would be damned, she would

have had to admit that he would be damned, his unbelief did not

cause her unhappiness. And she, confessing that for an

unbeliever there can be no salvation, and loving her husband's

soul more than anything in the world, thought with a smile of his

unbelief, and told herself that he was absurd.

"What does he keep reading philosophy of some sort for all this

year?" she wondered. "If it's all written in those books, he can

understand them. If it's all wrong, why does he read them? He

says himself that he would like to believe. Then why is it he

doesn't believe? Surely from his thinking so much? And he

thinks so much from being solitary. He's always alone, alone.

He can't talk about it all to us. I fancy he'll be glad of these

visitors, especially Katavasov. He likes discussions with them,"

she thought, and passed instantly to the consideration of where

it would be more convenient to put Katavasov, to sleep alone or

to share Sergey Ivanovitch's room. And then an idea suddenly

struck her, which made her shudder and even disturb Mitya, who

glanced severely at her. "I do believe the laundress hasn't sent

the washing yet, and all the best sheets are in use. If I don't

see to it, Agafea Mihalovna will give Sergey Ivanovitch the wrong

sheets," and at the very idea of this the blood rushed to Kitty's

face.