bare elbows; but the sight of this child made her feel clearly that the affection which she felt for it was not the same kind of love that she had for Serozha. Everything about this little girl was lovely; but somehow she did not fill the wants of her heart.
In her first-born, although he was the child of a man whom she did not love, was concentrated all the strength of a love which had not been satisfied. Her daughter, born in the most trying circumstances, had never received the one-hundredth part of the care which she had spent on Serozha. Moreover, the little girl, as yet, only represented hopes, while Serozha was almost a man, and a lovely man! He had already begun to struggle with his thoughts and feelings; he loved his mother, understood her, judged her perhaps, she thought, recalling her son's words and looks; and now she was separated from him forever, morally as well as materially; and she saw no way of remedying the situation.
She gave the little one back to her nurse, and sent them away, and opened a locket containing Serozha's picture about the same age as his sister; then, removing her hat, she took an album in which were photographs of her son at different periods; she wanted to compare them, and she began to take them out of the album. She took them all out. One was left, the last, the best photograph of him. It represented Serozha astride a chair, in a white frock, a smile on his lips and a shadow in his eyes; it was his most characteristic, his best expression. Holding the album in her little deft hands, which to-day moved with extraordinary nervousness, she tried with her slender white fingers to take it from its place; but the photograph stuck, and she could not get at it. There was no paper-cutter on the table, and she took up another photograph at random to push out the card from its place.
It was a picture of Vronsky, taken in Rome, with long hair and a round felt hat.
"Ah! there he is," she said to herself, and as she looked at him she suddenly remembered that he was the cause of all her present suffering.
