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When he got out of the train at Petersburg, he felt after his

sleepless night as keen and fresh as after a cold bath. He paused

near his compartment, waiting for her to get out. "Once more," he

said to himself, smiling unconsciously, "once more I shall see

her walk, her face; she will say something, turn her head,

glance, smile, maybe." But before he caught sight of her, he saw

her husband, whom the station-master was deferentially escorting

through the crowd. "Ah, yes! The husband." Only now for the first

time did Vronsky realize clearly the fact that there was a person

attached to her, a husband. He knew that she had a husband, but

had hardly believed in his existence, and only now fully believed

in him, with his head and shoulders, and his legs clad in black

trousers; especially when he saw this husband calmly take her arm

with a sense of property.