."

Chapter 8

Anna, in that first period of her emancipation and rapid return
to health, felt herself unpardonably happy and full of the joy
of life. The thought of her husband's unhappiness did not poison
her happiness. On one side that memory was too awful to be
thought of. On the other side her husband's unhappiness had
given her too much happiness to be regretted. The memory of all
that had happened after her illness: her reconciliation with her
husband, its breakdown, the news of Vronsky's wound, his visit,
the preparations for divorce, the departure from her husband's
house, the parting from her son--all that seemed to her like a
delirious dream, from which she had waked up alone with Vronsky
abroad. The thought of the harm caused to her husband aroused in
her a feeling like repulsion, and akin to what a drowning man
might feel who has shaken off another man clinging to him. That
man did drown. It was an evil action, of course, but it was the
sole means of escape, and better not to brood over these fearful
facts.

One consolatory reflection upon her conduct had occurred to her
at the first moment of the final rupture, and when now she
recalled all the past, she remembered that one reflection. "I
have inevitably made that man wretched," she thought; "but I
don't want to profit by his misery. I too am suffering, and
shall suffer; I am losing what I prized above everything--I am
losing my good name and my son. I have done wrong, and so I
don't want happiness, I don't want a divorce, and shall suffer
from my shame and the separation from my child." But, however
sincerely Anna had meant to suffer, she was not suffering. Shame
there was not. With the tact of which both had such a large
share, they had succeeded in avoiding Russian ladies abroad, and
so had never placed themselves in a false position, and
everywhere they had met people who pretended that they perfectly
understood their position, far better indeed than they did
themselves. Separation from the son she loved--even that did not
cause her anguish in these early days. The baby girl--_his_
child--was so sweet, and had so won Anna's heart, since she was
all that was left her, that Anna rarely thought of her son.

The desire for life, waxing stronger with recovered health, was
so intense, and the conditions of life were so new and pleasant,
that Anna felt unpardonably happy. The more she got to know
Vronsky, the more she loved him.