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At that moment he knew only that Mahotin had flown swiftly by,

while he stood staggering alone on the muddy, motionless ground,

and Frou-Frou lay gasping before him, bending her head back and

gazing at him with her exquisite eyes. Still unable to realize

what had happened, Vronsky tugged at his mare's reins. Again she

struggled all over like a fish, and her shoulders setting the

saddle heaving, she rose on her front legs but unable to lift her

back, she quivered all over and again fell on her side. With a

face hideous with passion, his lower jaw trembling, and his

cheeks white, Vronsky kicked her with his heel in the stomach and

again fell to tugging at the rein. She did not stir, but

thrusting her nose into the ground, she simply gazed at her

master with her speaking eyes.

"A-a-a!" groaned Vronsky, clutching at his head. "Ah! what have I

done!" he cried. "The race lost! And my fault! shameful,

unpardonable! And the poor darling, ruined mare! Ah! what have I

done!"