ventured to smile,—for it would have seemed rude,—but his smile was so full of kindness, and an almost effeminate sweetness, that, instead of irritating, it was calming and soothing; his gentle soothing words and smile acted like oil of sweet almonds. Anna at once felt the effect.
"No, Stiva," said she, "I am lost, lost! worse than lost. And yet, I am not yet lost: I cannot still say that all is over; on the contrary, I feel that all is not yet over. I seem like a cord too tightly stretched, which must break. But the end has not yet come, and it will be terrible."
"No, no; the cord can be carefully unstrung. There is no difficulty without some way out of it."
"I have thought it over, and thought it over, and I see only one...."
Again he saw by her look of dismay that the one way that she meant was death, and again he did not allow her to finish.
"No, listen to me; you cannot judge of your position so well as I. Let me tell you frankly my opinion." He smiled again cautiously, with his almond-oily smile. "I will begin at the beginning: you married a man twenty years older than yourself, and you married without love,—or, at least, without knowing what love was. It was a mistake—as well admit it."
"A terrible mistake!" said Anna,
"But, I repeat it, it was an accomplished fact. You then had, let us say, the misfortune to fall in love—not with your husband; that was a misfortune, but that, too, was an accomplished fact. Your husband knew it, and forgave it." After each sentence he stopped, as if to give her time to reply, but she said nothing. "Now, the question is, can you continue to live with your husband? do you wish it? does he wish it?"
"I know nothing about it, nothing."
"But you yourself have just said that you could no longer endure him."
"No, I did not say so. I deny it. I know nothing, I understand nothing."
