.
And that was followed almost by madness. Oh, why talk of it!"
said the countess with a wave of her hand. "It was an awful
time! No, say what you will, she was a bad woman. Why, what is
the meaning of such desperate passions? It was all to show
herself something out of the way. Well, and that she did do.
She brought herself to ruin and two good men--her husband and my
unhappy son."

"And what did her husband do?" asked Sergey Ivanovitch.

"He has taken her daughter. Alexey was ready to agree to
anything at first. Now it worries him terribly that he should
have given his own child away to another man. But he can't take
back his word. Karenin came to the funeral. But we tried to
prevent his meeting Alexey. For him, for her husband, it was
easier, anyway. She had set him free. But my poor son was
utterly given up to her. He had thrown up everything, his
career, me, and even then she had no mercy on him, but of set
purpose she made his ruin complete. No, say what you will, her
very death was the death of a vile woman, of no religious
feeling. God forgive me, but I can't help hating the memory of
her, when I look at my son's misery!"

"But how is he now?"

"It was a blessing from Providence for us--this Servian war. I'm
old, and I don't understand the rights and wrongs of it, but it's
come as a providential blessing to him. Of course for me, as his
mother, it's terrible; and what's worse, they say, _ce n'est pas
tres bien vu a Petersbourg_. But it can't be helped! It was the
one thing that could rouse him. Yashvin--a friend of his--he had
lost all he had at cards and he was going to Servia. He came to
see him and persuaded him to go. Now it's an interest for him.
Do please talk to him a little. I want to distract his mind.
He's so low-spirited. And as bad luck would have it, he has
toothache too. But he'll be delighted to see you. Please do
talk to him; he's walking up and down on that side."

Sergey Ivanovitch said he would be very glad to, and crossed over
to the other side of the station.

Chapter 5

In the slanting evening shadows cast by the baggage piled up on
the platform, Vronsky in his long overcoat and slouch hat, with
his hands in his pockets, strode up and down, like a wild beast
in a cage, turning sharply after twenty paces. Sergey Ivanovitch
fancied, as he approached him, that Vronsky saw him but was
pretending not to see. This did not affect Sergey Ivanovitch in