he remembered how this gentle, excellent Varia had always made him understand that she should not forget his generosity, and never cease to appreciate it. It would be as impossible as to strike a woman, to steal, or to lie.
There was only one possible and practicable thing, and Vronsky adopted it without a moment's hesitation: to borrow ten thousand rubles of a usurer,—there was no difficulty about this,—to reduce his expenses as much as he could, and to sell his race-horses. Having decided to do this, he immediately wrote a letter to Rolandaki, who had many times offered to buy his stud. Then he sent for his English trainer and the usurer, and devoted the money which he had on hand to various accounts. Having finished this business, he wrote a cold and sharp reply to his mother; and then, taking from his portfolio Anna's last three letters, he re-read them, burned them, and, remembering his last conversation with her, fell into deep meditation.
CHAPTER XX
Vronsky's life had been especially happy, because he had a special code of rules, which infallibly determined all he ought to do and ought not to do.
This code embraced a very small circle of duties, but the rules allowed no manner of question, and as Vronsky never had occasion to go outside of this circle, he had never been obliged to hesitate about what he had to do. These rules prescribed unfailingly that it was necessary to pay gambling debts, but not his tailor's bills; that it was not permissible to tell lies, except to women; that it was not right to deceive any one except a husband; that insults could be committed, but never pardoned.
All these precepts might be wrong and illogical, but they were indubitable; and, in fulfilling them, Vronsky felt that he was calm, and had the right to hold his head high. Only very recently, however, and during the progress of his intimacy with Anna, Vronsky began to
