. The waters had
not benefited him. He was ordered to take more physical exercise and to
undergo less mental strain, and above all to avoid all worry.

It was not with real pleasure, but with an affectation of cordiality
that Anna received her husband when he reached the _datcha_. She was gay
and animated. He was somewhat constrained, and the conversation was
without any special interest. But Anna afterwards could only recall it
with real pain. The crisis came on a racecourse. One of Vronsky's chief
pleasures was horse-racing, and at the brilliant races that season he
himself rode his own splendid horse. But the occasion was a most
disastrous one, for at the hurdle races more than half the riders were
thrown, Vronsky being one of them. He was picked up uninjured, but the
horse had its back broken.

Aleksei and his wife and several friends were amongst the gay crowd, and
he noted with deep displeasure that his wife turned pale when the
accident happened and was strangely excited throughout the occasion. In
the carriage, as the pair returned, he taxed her with her unseemly
demeanour, and a violent quarrel ensued, in which she exclaimed, "I love
him. I fear you. I hate you. Do as you please with me." And Anna flung
herself to the bottom of the carriage, covering her face with her hands
and sobbing convulsively.

Aleksei sat in silence during the rest of the journey home, but as they
came near the house he said, "I insist that from this moment appearances
be preserved for the sake of my honour, and I will communicate my
decision to you after I have considered what measures I shall take." He
assisted her to alight at the _datcha_, shook hands with her in the
presence of the servants, and returned to St. Petersburg.

"Thank God, it is all over between us," said Anna to herself. But,
notwithstanding this reflection, she had felt strangely impressed by the
aspect of deathlike rigidity in her husband's face, though he gave no
sign of inward agitation. As he rode off alone he felt a keen pain in
his heart. But, curiously enough, he also experienced a sensation of
deep relief of soul now that a vast load of doubt and jealousy had been
lifted from him.

"I always knew she was without either heart or religion," said he to
himself. "I made a mistake when I united my life with hers, but I should
not be unhappy, for my error was not my fault. Henceforth for me she
does not exist." He pondered over the problem whether he should
ch