from the sound of his voice, and from his glance, that grew colder and colder, she saw that he would not forgive her for the victory, that the sense of obstinacy which she had struggled to overcome was as firm in him as ever. He was colder toward her than before, as if he regretted having yielded to her. And as she remembered the words that won her the victory, especially the words, "How near I am to horrible misfortune, and I fear for myself," she realized that it was a dangerous weapon, and that she must never employ it again. But she felt that along with the love which united them, there stood between them an evil spirit of conflict which she had not the power to drive from his heart, and still less from her own.
CHAPTER XIII
There are no imaginable conditions to which a man cannot accustom himself, especially if he sees that all those who surround him are living in the same way.
Three months before Levin would not have believed that he could have slept tranquilly under the conditions in which he found himself at the present time,—that living an aimless, unprofitable life, spending more than his income, getting tipsy,—for he could not call his experience at the club anything else,—his absurd intimacy with a man with whom his wife had once been in love, and his still more absurd visit to a woman whom it was impossible to regard as respectable, and after the fascination which she had exerted over him and the mortification which he had caused his wife—that under all these conditions he could sleep serenely. But under the influence of his weariness, the long hours without a nap, and the wine which he had drunk, he slept soundly and serenely.
At five o'clock the noise of an opening door wakened him. He sat up and looked around; Kitty was not in bed next him. But behind a screen there was a light moving, and he heard her steps.
