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"Just so," Betsy agreed; "one must make mistakes and correct

them. What do you think about it?" she turned to Anna, who, with

a faintly perceptible resolute smile on her lips, was listening

in silence to the conversation.

"I think," said Anna, playing with the glove she had taken off,

"I think ... of so many men, so many minds, certainly so many

hearts, so many kinds of love."

Vronsky was gazing at Anna, and with a fainting heart waiting for

what she would say. He sighed as after a danger escaped when she

uttered these words.

Anna suddenly turned to him.

"Oh, I have had a letter from Moscow. They write me that Kitty

Shtcherbatskaya's very ill."

"Really?" said Vronsky, knitting his brows.

Anna looked sternly at him.

"That doesn't interest you?"

"On the contrary, it does, very much. What was it exactly they

told you, if I may know?" he questioned.

Anna got up and went to Betsy.

"Give me a cup of tea," she said, standing at her table.

While Betsy was pouring out the tea, Vronsky went up to Anna.