CHAPTER 10

THE YOUNG PRINCESS Kitty Shcherbatskaya was eighteen. It was the first winter that she had been out in the world, and shortly she would at last receive her very own beloved-companion robot. Kitty’s success in society had been greater than that of either of her elder sisters, and greater even than her mother had anticipated. To say nothing of the young men who danced at the Moscow floats being almost all in love with Kitty, two serious suitors had already this first winter made their appearance: Levin, and immediately after his departure, that dashing, smoker-wielding hero of the Border Wars, Count Vronsky.

Levin’s appearance at the beginning of the winter, his frequent visits, and evident love for Kitty had led to the first serious conversations between Kitty’s parents as to her future, and to disputes between them. The prince was on Levin’s side; he said he wished for nothing better for Kitty. The princess for her part, going round the question in the manner peculiar to women, maintained that Kitty was too young, that Levin had done nothing to prove that he had serious intentions, that Kitty felt no great attraction to him, and other side issues; but she did not state the principal point, which was that she looked for a better match for her daughter, and that Levin was not to her liking, and she did not understand him. A groznium miner with a pit-burnt face and alloy dust on his hands? When Levin had abruptly departed, the princess was delighted, and said to her husband triumphantly: “You see, I was right. Let him return to his smoldering hole in the ground!”

When Vronsky appeared on the scene, she was still more delighted, confirmed in her opinion that Kitty was to make not simply a good, but a brilliant match. Vronsky satisfied all the mother’s desires. Very wealthy, clever, of aristocratic family, a known sharpshooter with a smoker, on the highroad to a brilliant career at court, and a fascinating man. Nothing better could be wished for.

Vronsky openly flirted with Kitty at the floats, hovered and flipped at her side, and came continually to the house; consequently there could be no doubt of the seriousness of his intentions. But, in spite of that, the mother had spent the whole of that winter in a state of terrible anxiety and agitation; her Class III, a matronly machine with a French inflection called La Shcherbatskaya, had spent many an evening fanning her mistress and offering calming jets of scented air from her Third Bay.

Now she was afraid that Vronsky might confine himself to simply flirting with Kitty. She saw that her daughter was in love with him, but tried to comfort herself with the thought that he was an honorable man, and would not do this. But at the same time she knew how easy it is, with the freedom of manners of today, to turn a girl’s head, and how lightly men generally regard such a crime.

Today, with Levin’s reappearance, a fresh source of anxiety arose. “I am afraid for my daughter,” she said to La Shcherbatskaya, who stood beside her, folding laundry.

“Afraid? Oh dear, madame!”

“At one time I think she had a feeling for Levin.”

“Oh yes, oh yes, a feeling. A certain feeling!”

“Perhaps from some extreme sense of honor she will refuse Vronsky!”

“Refuse him! No, no, madame. Oh dear oh dear oh dear!”

“Or that Levin’s arrival might generally complicate and delay the affair so near being concluded.”

At that moment the daughter entered the room to greet her mother, and the Class III politely put herself into Surcease.

“Has he been here long?” the princess asked about Levin, after Kitty related to her the dramatic events at the skate-maze, including the heroics exhibited by Konstantin Dmitrich and his Class III.

“He came today, Mamma.”

“There’s one thing I want to say…,” began the princess, and from her serious and alert face, Kitty guessed what it would be.

“Mamma,” she said, flushing hotly and turning quickly to her. “Please, please don’t say anything about that. I know, I know all about it.”

She wished for what her mother wished for, but the motives of her mother’s wishes wounded her.

“I only want to say that to raise hopes…”

“Mamma, darling, for goodness’ sake, don’t talk about it. It’s so horrible to talk about it.”

“I won’t,” said her mother, seeing the tears in her daughter’s eyes, “but one thing, my love: You promised me you would have no secrets from me. You won’t?”

“Never, Mamma, none,” answered Kitty, flushing a little, and looking her mother straight in the face, “but there’s no use in my telling you anything, and I… I… if I wanted to, I don’t know what to say or how… I don’t know…”

No, she could not tell an untruth with those eyes, thought the mother, smiling at her agitation and happiness. The princess smiled that what was taking place just now in her soul seemed to the poor child so immense and so important.

CHAPTER 11

AFTER DINNER, AND TILL the beginning of the evening, Kitty was feeling a sensation akin to the sensation of a young man before a battle. Her heart throbbed violently, and her thoughts would not rest on anything.

She turned on the Galena Box, trying to calm her nerves. She felt that this evening, when they would both meet for the first time, would be a turning point in her life. And she was continually picturing them to herself, at one moment each separately, and then both together. She wished she had already received her Class III, so she could review her past experiences more efficiently, by cuing them in the monitor of her own beloved-companion; instead she was forced to remember in the way of children, with her mind. Still she dwelt with pleasure, with tenderness, on the memories of her relations with Levin. The memories of childhood and of Levin’s friendship with her dead brother gave a special poetic charm to her relations with him. His love for her, of which she felt certain, was flattering and delightful to her; and it was pleasant for her to think of Levin. In her memories of Vronsky there always entered a certain element of awkwardness, though he was in the highest degree well-bred and at ease, as though there were some false note-not in Vronsky, he was very simple and nice, but in herself, while with Levin she felt perfectly simple and clear. But, on the other hand, when she thought of the future with Vronsky, there arose before her a perspective of brilliant happiness; with Levin the future seemed misty.

She turned up the Galena Box and carried it with her when she went upstairs to dress. Looking into the looking-glass, she noticed with joy that it was one of her good days, and that she was in complete possession of all her forces-she needed this so for what lay before her: she was conscious of external composure and free grace in her movements.

At half past seven she had only just gone down into the drawing room, when the II/Footman/C(c)43 announced, in its grandiloquent way, “Konstantin Dmitrich Levin.” The princess was still in her room, and the prince had not come in. So it is to be, thought Kitty, and all the blood seemed to rush to her heart. She was horrified at her paleness, as she glanced into the looking-glass. At that moment she knew beyond doubt that he had come early on purpose to find her alone and to make her an offer. And only then for the first time the whole thing presented itself in a new, different aspect; only then she realized that the question did not affect her only-with whom she would be happy, and whom she loved-but that she would have that moment to wound a man whom she liked. And to wound him cruelly. She wished she could render herself invisible… though of course invisibility was impossible, and indeed experimentation into it was strictly forbidden.

Konstantin Dmitrich, dear fellow, loved her, was in love with her. But there was no help for it, so it must be, so it would have to be.