“When? Why, the sooner the better! By tomorrow we shan’t be ready. The day after tomorrow.”

“Yes⁠ ⁠… oh, no, wait a minute! The day after tomorrow’s Sunday, I have to be at maman’s ,” said Vronsky, embarrassed, because as soon as he uttered his mother’s name he was aware of her intent, suspicious eyes. His embarrassment confirmed her suspicion. She flushed hotly and drew away from him. It was now not the Queen of Sweden’s swimming-mistress who filled Anna’s imagination, but the young Princess Sorokina. She was staying in a village near Moscow with Countess Vronskaya.

“Can’t you go tomorrow?” she said.

“Well, no! The deeds and the money for the business I’m going there for I can’t get by tomorrow,” he answered.

“If so, we won’t go at all.”

“But why so?”