Page 1185 - ANNA KARENINA

Anna Karenina

‘That’s not your duty; send the waiter to clear away,
and get my dress coat out.’
Vronsky went into the theater at half-past eight. The
performance was in full swing. The little old box-keeper,

recognizing Vronsky as he helped him off with his fur
coat, called him ‘Your Excellency,’ and suggested he
should not take a number but should simply call Fyodor.
In the brightly lighted corridor there was no one but the
box-opener and two attendants with fur cloaks on their
arms listening at the doors. Through the closed doors
came the sounds of the discreet staccato accompaniment of
the orchestra, and a single female voice rendering
distinctly a musical phrase. The door opened to let the
box-opener slip through, and the phrase drawing to the
end reached Vronsky’s hearing clearly. But the doors were
closed again at once, and Vronsky did not hear the end of
the phrase and the cadence of the accompaniment, though
he knew from the thunder of applause that it was over.
When he entered the hall, brilliantly lighted with
chandeliers and gas jets, the noise was still going on. On
the stage the singer, bowing and smiling, with bare
shoulders flashing with diamonds, was, with the help of
the tenor who had given her his arm, gathering up the
bouquets that were flying awkwardly over the footlights.

1184 of 1759