"In what way could I, properly?" asked Karenin, quietly.
"Yes, have pity upon her. If you saw her as I do, — I have seen her all winter, — you would pity her. Her position is cruel."
"I thought," said Karenin, suddenly, in a piercing, almost whining voice, "that Anna Arkadyevna had obtained all that she wished."
"Oh! Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, for God's sake, let us not make recriminations. What is past is past; and you know what she is now waiting for and hoping for is .... the divorce."
"But I understood, that in case I kept my son, Anna Arkadyevna refused the divorce; and so my silence was equivalent to a reply, and I thought the question settled. I consider it settled," said he, with more and more warmth.
"For God's sake don't get angry," said Stepan Arkadyevitch, touching his brother-in-law's knee. "This question is not settled. If you will allow me to recapitulate, the affair stands thus: When you separated, you were as great, as magnanimous, as was possible to be. You granted her everything .... her freedom, even a divorce if she wanted one. She appreciated it. No, you don't think so; but she appreciated it absolutely, — to such a degree that, at first, feeling her guilt toward you, she did not, she could not, reason about it at all. She refused everything. But the reality and time have shown her that her position is painful and intolerable."
"Anna Arkadyevna's life cannot interest me," said Karenin, raising his eyebrows.
"Permit me to disbelieve that," replied Stepan Arkadyevitch, gently. "Her position is painful to her, and without any escape whatever. She deserves it, you say. She acknowledges that, and does not complain. She says up and down that she should never dare to ask anything of you. But I, and all of her relatives, all who love her, beg and implore you to have pity on her. Why should she suffer? Whose advantage is it?"
