and he knew that Anna, too, had been on friendly terms with them; Madame Kartasof, a little, thin woman, was standing with her back to Anna, and putting on an opera-cloak, which her husband handed to her; her face was pale and angry; and she was saying something with great excitement. Kartasof, a stout, bald-headed man, kept looking at Anna, and trying to calm his wife.
When Madame Kartasof left the box, her husband lingered, trying to catch Anna's eye, and evidently desirous of bowing to her; but apparently she purposely avoided noticing him, and leaned back to speak to Yashvin, whose shaven head was bent toward her. Kartasof went out without having bowed, and the box was left empty.
Vronsky did not understand what had just passed between the Kartasofs and Anna, but he felt perfectly sure that something mortifying had happened to Anna; by the expression of her face he saw that she was summoning all her strength to keep up her part to the end, and to appear perfectly calm. And this semblance of external calm was put on to perfection. Those who knew nothing of her history and her circle, who had not heard her old friends' expressions of indignation at her appearing in this way, in all the splendor of her beauty and of her toilet, would have admired her serenity and beauty, and never have suspected that this woman was enduring the same feelings of shame as a criminal experiences at the pillory.
Knowing that something had taken place, but not knowing exactly what, Vronsky felt a sense of deep anxiety, and, hoping to learn something about the matter, went to his brother's box. He intentionally crossed the parquet, on the side opposite to Anna's box, and, as he went, ran across his former regimental commander, who was talking with two of his acquaintances. Vronsky heard the Karenins' name spoken, and noticed that the regimental commander hastened to call to him aloud, while he gave his friends a significant look.
"Ah! Vronsky. When shall we see you again in the regiment? We shan't let you off without a banquet.
