"What a pity you were not in time for the first act!" Vronsky, listening with one ear, moved his opera glass from the stalls and scanned the boxes.

Near a lady in a turban and a bald old man, who seemed to wave angrily in the moving opera glass, Vronsky suddenly caught sight of Anna's head, proud, strikingly beautiful, and smiling in the frame of lace.

She was in the fifth box, twenty paces from him.

She was sitting in front, and slightly turning, was saying something to Yashvin.