“I’m not going,” Vronsky answered gloomily.

“Well, I must, I promised to. Goodbye, then. If you do, come to the stalls; you can take Kruzin’s stall,” added Yashvin as he went out.

“No, I’m busy.”

“A wife is a care, but it’s worse when she’s not a wife,” thought Yashvin, as he walked out of the hotel.

Vronsky, left alone, got up from his chair and began pacing up and down the room.

“And what’s today? The fourth night.⁠ ⁠… Yegor and his wife are there, and my mother, most likely. Of course all Petersburg’s there. Now she’s gone in, taken off her cloak and come into the light. Tushkevitch, Yashvin, Princess Varvara,” he pictured them to himself.⁠ ⁠… “What about me? Either that I’m frightened or have given up to Tushkevitch the right to protect her? From every point of view⁠—stupid, stupid!⁠ ⁠… And why is she putting me in such a position?” he said with a gesture of despair.