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- Лев Толстой
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- Анна Каренина
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- Стр. 622/828
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On
the
bridge
was
a
crowd
of
peasant
women
with
coils
of
ties
for
the
sheaves
on
their
shoulders
,
gaily
and
noisily
chattering
.
They
stood
still
on
the
bridge
,
staring
inquisitively
at
the
carriage
.
All
the
faces
turned
to
Darya
Alexandrovna
looked
to
her
healthy
and
happy
,
making
her
envious
of
their
enjoyment
of
life
.
“
They
’
re
all
living
,
they
’
re
all
enjoying
life
,
”
Darya
Alexandrovna
still
mused
when
she
had
passed
the
peasant
women
and
was
driving
uphill
again
at
a
trot
,
seated
comfortably
on
the
soft
springs
of
the
old
carriage
,
“
while
I
,
let
out
,
as
it
were
from
prison
,
from
the
world
of
worries
that
fret
me
to
death
,
am
only
looking
about
me
now
for
an
instant
.
They
all
live
;
those
peasant
women
and
my
sister
Natalia
and
Varenka
and
Anna
,
whom
I
am
going
to
see
—
all
,
but
not
I
.
“
And
they
attack
Anna
.
What
for
?
am
I
any
better
?
I
have
,
anyway
,
a
husband
I
love
—
not
as
I
should
like
to
love
him
,
still
I
do
love
him
,
while
Anna
never
loved
hers
.
How
is
she
to
blame
?
She
wants
to
live
.
God
has
put
that
in
our
hearts
.
Very
likely
I
should
have
done
the
same
.
Even
to
this
day
I
don
’
t
feel
sure
I
did
right
in
listening
to
her
at
that
terrible
time
when
she
came
to
me
in
Moscow
.
I
ought
then
to
have
cast
off
my
husband
and
have
begun
my
life
fresh
.
I
might
have
loved
and
have
been
loved
in
reality
.
And
is
it
any
better
as
it
is
?
I
don
’
t
respect
him
.
He
’
s
necessary
to
me
,
”
she
thought
about
her
husband
,
“
and
I
put
up
with
him
.
Is
that
any
better
?
At
that
time
I
could
still
have
been
admired
,
I
had
beauty
left
me
still
,
”
Darya
Alexandrovna
pursued
her
thoughts
,
and
she
would
have
liked
to
look
at
herself
in
the
looking
-
glass
.
She
had
a
traveling
looking
-
glass
in
her
handbag
,
and
she
wanted
to
take
it
out
;
but
looking
at
the
backs
of
the
coachman
and
the
swaying
counting
-
house
clerk
,
she
felt
that
she
would
be
ashamed
if
either
of
them
were
to
look
round
,
and
she
did
not
take
out
the
glass
.
But
without
looking
in
the
glass
,
she
thought
that
even
now
it
was
not
too
late
;
and
she
thought
of
Sergey
Ivanovitch
,
who
was
always
particularly
attentive
to
her
,
of
Stiva
’
s
good
-
hearted
friend
,
Turovtsin
,
who
had
helped
her
nurse
her
children
through
the
scarlatina
,
and
was
in
love
with
her
.
And
there
was
someone
else
,
a
quite
young
man
,
who
—
her
husband
had
told
her
it
as
a
joke
—
thought
her
more
beautiful
than
either
of
her
sisters
.
And
the
most
passionate
and
impossible
romances
rose
before
Darya
Alexandrovna
’
s
imagination
.
“
Anna
did
quite
right
,
and
certainly
I
shall
never
reproach
her
for
it
.
She
is
happy
,
she
makes
another
person
happy
,
and
she
’
s
not
broken
down
as
I
am
,
but
most
likely
just
as
she
always
was
,
bright
,
clever
,
open
to
every
impression
,
”
thought
Darya
Alexandrovna
,
—
and
a
sly
smile
curved
her
lips
,
for
,
as
she
pondered
on
Anna
’
s
love
affair
,
Darya
Alexandrovna
constructed
on
parallel
lines
an
almost
identical
love
affair
for
herself
,
with
an
imaginary
composite
figure
,
the
ideal
man
who
was
in
love
with
her
.
She
,
like
Anna
,
confessed
the
whole
affair
to
her
husband
And
the
amazement
and
perplexity
of
Stepan
Arkadyevitch
at
this
avowal
made
her
smile
.
In
such
daydreams
she
reached
the
turning
of
the
highroad
that
led
to
Vozdvizhenskoe
.
The
coachman
pulled
up
his
four
horses
and
looked
round
to
the
right
,
to
a
field
of
rye
,
where
some
peasants
were
sitting
on
a
cart
.
The
counting
-
house
clerk
was
just
going
to
jump
down
,
but
on
second
thoughts
he
shouted
peremptorily
to
the
peasants
instead
,
and
beckoned
to
them
to
come
up
.
The
wind
,
that
seemed
to
blow
as
they
drove
,
dropped
when
the
carriage
stood
still
;
gadflies
settled
on
the
steaming
horses
that
angrily
shook
them
off
.
The
metallic
clank
of
a
whetstone
against
a
scythe
,
that
came
to
them
from
the
cart
,
ceased
.
One
of
the
peasants
got
up
and
came
towards
the
carriage
.
“
Well
,
you
are
slow
!
”
the
counting
-
house
clerk
shouted
angrily
to
the
peasant
who
was
stepping
slowly
with
his
bare
feet
over
the
ruts
of
the
rough
dry
road
.
“
Come
along
,
do
!
”
A
curly
-
headed
old
man
with
a
bit
of
bast
tied
round
his
hair
,
and
his
bent
back
dark
with
perspiration
,
came
towards
the
carriage
,
quickening
his
steps
,
and
took
hold
of
the
mud
-
guard
with
his
sunburnt
hand
.
“
Vozdvizhenskoe
,
the
manor
house
?
the
count
’
s
?
”
he
repeated
;
“
go
on
to
the
end
of
this
track
.
Then
turn
to
the
left
.
Straight
along
the
avenue
and
you
’
ll
come
right
upon
it
.
But
whom
do
you
want
?
The
count
himself
?
”
