狂风呼啸着从马车车轮间、脚手架旁和车站拐角处掠过。车厢、立柱、行人——目之所及的一切都被积雪覆盖了一侧，且越积越厚。暴风雪短暂停歇片刻，随即又猛烈袭来，那势头仿佛让人难以站稳。然而人们仍在奔忙，欢快地交谈着，脚步在站台上嘎吱作响，不断开合着那扇巨大的门。一个佝偻的人影从她脚边滑过，她听见了铁锤敲击的声响。"把电报递过来！"暴风雪黑暗中传来愤怒的喊声。"这边！28号！"几个不同的声音呼喊着，裹着厚衣的身影满身积雪地跑过。两位绅士衔着点燃的香烟从她身旁经过。她又深深吸了口清冽的空气，刚要把手从手笼里抽出去抓车门柱准备回车厢，一个穿军大衣的男人几乎贴着她身边，从她和路灯摇曳的光影间穿过。她回头一看，瞬间认出了弗龙斯基的脸。他将手举到帽檐处向她行礼，问是否有什么需要帮忙的，可否为她效劳。她久久凝视着他没有作答，尽管他站在阴影中，她仍看见——或者说她觉得自己看见了——他脸上和眼中的神情。那正是昨天曾让她为之动容的、充满敬畏的狂喜表情。过去几天里她多次告诫自己，就在片刻前她还想着，弗龙斯基对她而言不过是随处可见的千百个年轻人中的一个，永远千篇一律，她绝不会允许自己对他产生任何念想。可此刻初遇的瞬间，一股欣喜的骄傲便攫住了她。她无需问他为何而来。她确信无疑——仿佛他亲口告诉过她一般——他来此就是为了追随她。
"我不知道您也要乘车。您来做什么？"她说着松开了握着车门柱的手。难以抑制的喜悦与急切在她脸上闪耀。
"我来做什么？"他重复着她的话，直视她的眼睛。"您知道我来是为了和您在一起，"他说，"我别无选择。"
就在这时，狂风仿佛冲破了所有阻碍，将积雪从车厢顶篷卷起，吹得一块被扯下的铁皮哐当作响，火车头嘶哑的汽笛在车前哀怨而阴郁地轰鸣。此刻她反倒觉得这骇人的暴风雪格外壮美。他说出了她灵魂渴望听到的话——尽管理智让她畏惧。她没有回答，他在她脸上看到了挣扎。
"如果我的话让您不悦，请原谅我，"他谦卑地说。
他言辞恭敬谦逊，却又如此坚定固执，令她久久无法作答。
"您说的不对，如果您是个正人君子，我恳求您忘掉说过的话，就像我也会忘掉一样，"她终于开口。
"您的一言一行，我永远不会、也不能忘记……"
"够了，够了！"她叫道，竭力想摆出严厉的表情——而他正贪婪地注视着这张脸。她抓住冰冷的车门柱，踏上踏板迅速闪进车厢走廊。但在狭小的走廊里她停住了脚步，在脑海中回放着刚才发生的一切。尽管记不清自己和他的原话，她本能地意识到这短暂的对话已让他们可怕地拉近——这既令她恐慌又令她幸福。静立片刻后，她走进车厢坐下。先前折磨她的紧张状态非但重新袭来，反而加剧到顶点，使她每时每刻都担心过度紧绷的神经会在体内崩断。她整夜未眠。但那份紧张与充盈想象的幻影中并无丝毫可厌或阴郁——相反，其中洋溢着某种幸福、炽热而令人振奋的东西。黎明时分，安娜靠在座位上昏沉睡去。醒来时天已大亮，火车正接近彼得堡。关于家庭、丈夫和儿子的思绪，以及接下来那天的种种细节立刻涌上心头。
在彼得堡，火车刚停稳她走下车厢，第一个吸引她注意的人便是丈夫。"哦，天哪！他的耳朵怎么长成那样？"她想着，凝视他那冷漠威严的身形——尤其是此刻支撑着圆礼帽帽檐的双耳。看到她后，他迎上前来，嘴唇习惯性地浮现出讥讽的微笑，疲倦的大眼睛直直望着她。迎上他固执而疲惫的目光时，一种不快的感觉攫住了她的心——仿佛她期待看见的是另一个他。令她格外震惊的是，重逢时她竟感到对自己不满。这种感觉熟悉而亲密，如同一种虚伪的认知——她在与丈夫相处时一直体验着这种感受。但此前她从未留意过这种感觉，此刻却清晰而痛苦地意识到了。
"是的，如你所见，你温柔的配偶——就像婚后第一年一样忠诚——怀着难以按捺的渴望等着见你，"他用那缓慢而尖刻的嗓音说道，语气就像他平时对她说话时常有的那样——一种揶揄任何人如果真的把他的话当真的腔调。
"谢廖沙还好吗？"她问。
"这难道就是对我热情的回报？"他说，"他很健康。"
The raging tempest rushed whistling between the wheels of the
carriages, about the scaffolding, and round the corner of the station.
The carriages, posts, people, everything that was to be seen was
covered with snow on one side, and was getting more and more thickly
covered. For a moment there would come a lull in the storm, but then it
would swoop down again with such onslaughts that it seemed impossible
to stand against it. Meanwhile men ran to and fro, talking merrily
together, their steps crackling on the platform as they continually
opened and closed the big doors. The bent shadow of a man glided by at
her feet, and she heard sounds of a hammer upon iron. “Hand over that
telegram!” came an angry voice out of the stormy darkness on the other
side. “This way! No. 28!” several different voices shouted again, and
muffled figures ran by covered with snow. Two gentlemen with lighted
cigarettes passed by her. She drew one more deep breath of the fresh
air, and had just put her hand out of her muff to take hold of the door
post and get back into the carriage, when another man in a military
overcoat, quite close beside her, stepped between her and the
flickering light of the lamp post. She looked round, and the same
instant recognized Vronsky’s face. Putting his hand to the peak of his
cap, he bowed to her and asked, Was there anything she wanted? Could he
be of any service to her? She gazed rather a long while at him without
answering, and, in spite of the shadow in which he was standing, she
saw, or fancied she saw, both the expression of his face and his eyes.
It was again that expression of reverential ecstasy which had so worked
upon her the day before. More than once she had told herself during the
past few days, and again only a few moments before, that Vronsky was
for her only one of the hundreds of young men, forever exactly the
same, that are met everywhere, that she would never allow herself to
bestow a thought upon him. But now at the first instant of meeting him,
she was seized by a feeling of joyful pride. She had no need to ask why
he had come. She knew as certainly as if he had told her that he was
here to be where she was.
“I didn’t know you were going. What are you coming for?” she said,
letting fall the hand with which she had grasped the door post. And
irrepressible delight and eagerness shone in her face.
“What am I coming for?” he repeated, looking straight into her eyes.
“You know that I have come to be where you are,” he said; “I can’t help
it.”
At that moment the wind, as it were, surmounting all obstacles, sent
the snow flying from the carriage roofs, and clanked some sheet of iron
it had torn off, while the hoarse whistle of the engine roared in
front, plaintively and gloomily. All the awfulness of the storm seemed
to her more splendid now. He had said what her soul longed to hear,
though she feared it with her reason. She made no answer, and in her
face he saw conflict.
“Forgive me, if you dislike what I said,” he said humbly.
He had spoken courteously, deferentially, yet so firmly, so stubbornly,
that for a long while she could make no answer.
“It’s wrong, what you say, and I beg you, if you’re a good man, to
forget what you’ve said, as I forget it,” she said at last.
“Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever
forget....”
“Enough, enough!” she cried trying assiduously to give a stern
expression to her face, into which he was gazing greedily. And
clutching at the cold door post, she clambered up the steps and got
rapidly into the corridor of the carriage. But in the little corridor
she paused, going over in her imagination what had happened. Though she
could not recall her own words or his, she realized instinctively that
the momentary conversation had brought them fearfully closer; and she
was panic-stricken and blissful at it. After standing still a few
seconds, she went into the carriage and sat down in her place. The
overstrained condition which had tormented her before did not only come
back, but was intensified, and reached such a pitch that she was afraid
every minute that something would snap within her from the excessive
tension. She did not sleep all night. But in that nervous tension, and
in the visions that filled her imagination, there was nothing
disagreeable or gloomy: on the contrary there was something blissful,
glowing, and exhilarating. Towards morning Anna sank into a doze,
sitting in her place, and when she waked it was daylight and the train
was near Petersburg. At once thoughts of home, of husband and of son,
and the details of that day and the following came upon her.
At Petersburg, as soon as the train stopped and she got out, the first
person that attracted her attention was her husband. “Oh, mercy! why do
his ears look like that?” she thought, looking at his frigid and
imposing figure, and especially the ears that struck her at the moment
as propping up the brim of his round hat. Catching sight of her, he
came to meet her, his lips falling into their habitual sarcastic smile,
and his big, tired eyes looking straight at her. An unpleasant
sensation gripped at her heart when she met his obstinate and weary
glance, as though she had expected to see him different. She was
especially struck by the feeling of dissatisfaction with herself that
she experienced on meeting him. That feeling was an intimate, familiar
feeling, like a consciousness of hypocrisy, which she experienced in
her relations with her husband. But hitherto she had not taken note of
the feeling, now she was clearly and painfully aware of it.
“Yes, as you see, your tender spouse, as devoted as the first year
after marriage, burned with impatience to see you,” he said in his
deliberate, high-pitched voice, and in that tone which he almost always
took with her, a tone of jeering at anyone who should say in earnest
what he said.
“Is Seryozha quite well?” she asked.
“And is this all the reward,” said he, “for my ardor? He’s quite
well....”
