"I do not need you, Piotr."
"Who will get your ticket?"
"Well, go if you wish; it makes no difference to me," she said pettishly.
Piotr nimbly mounted the box, and, folding his arms, ordered the coachman to drive to the station.
CHAPTER XXX
"Now I am myself again. Now I remember it all," said Anna to herself, as soon as the calash started, and, rocking a little, rattled along over the cobble-stones of the pavement; and once more her impressions began to go whirling through her mind.
"Yes, what was that good thing that I was thinking about last? Tiutkin, the coiffeur? Oh, no; not that. Oh, yes; what Yashvin said about the struggle for existence, and hatred, the only thing that unites men. No; we go at haphazard."
She saw in a carriage drawn by four horses a party of merrymakers, who had evidently come to the city for a pleasure-trip.
"And the dog which you take with you does not help you at all. You can't get out of yourself." Glancing in the direction where Piotr was turning, she saw a working-man almost dead drunk, who, with a flopping head, was being led by a policeman. She added: "That man's way is quicker. Count Vronsky and I did not reach this pleasure, though we expected much."
And now for the first time Anna turned this bright light, all-revealing, upon her relations with the count; hitherto she had steadfastly refused to do so.
"What did he seek in me? A satisfaction for his vanity, rather than for his love!"
She remembered Vronsky's words, and the expression of his face, which reminded her of a submissive dog, when they first met and loved. Everything seemed a confirmation of this thought.
"Yes; he cared for the triumph of success above
