"There! I beg of you not to speak ill of the Countess Lidia."
"Is there any harm in her being in love with Karenin?"
"Is it true that Madame Karenin is here?"
"Not here at the Palace, but in Petersburg. I met her yesterday with Alekseï Vronsky dras dessus, bras dessous, on the Morskaya."
"C'est un homme qui n'a pas"—began the chamberlain; but he broke short off to salute and make way for a member of the imperial family who was passing.
Thus they were talking about Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, criticizing and ridiculing him, while he himself was barring the way of the imperial counselor, and, without pausing in his explanations lest he should lose him, was giving a detailed exposition of a financial scheme.
Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, about the time his wife left him, had reached a situation painful for an official,—the culmination of his upward career. This culmination had been reached, and all clearly saw it, but Alekseï Aleksandrovitch himself was not yet aware that his career was ended. Either his collision with Stremof, or his trouble with his wife, or the simple fact that Alekseï Aleksiandrovitch had reached the limit that he had been destined to attain, the fact remained that every one saw clearly that his official race was run. He still held an important place; he was a member of many important committees and commissions: but he was one of those men of whom nothing more is expected; his day was over. Whatever he said, whatever he proposed seemed antiquated and useless. But Alekseï Aleksandrovitch himself did not realize this; on the contrary, now that he had ceased to have an active participation in the business of the administration, he saw more clearly than before the faults and mistakes that others were making, and considered it his duty to indicate certain reforms which should be introduced.
Shortly after his separation from his wife, he began to write his first pamphlet about the new tribunals, and proposed to follow it up with an endless series of similar
