Now he seemed to see her in the early days of their marriage, with bare shoulders and a languid, passionate look on her face, and then immediately he saw beside her Dolokhov's handsome, insolent, hard, and mocking face as he had seen it at the banquet, and then that same face pale, quivering, and suffering, as it had been when he reeled and sank on the snow.

"What has happened?" he asked himself.

" I have killed her lover, yes, killed my wife's lover.

Yes, that was it! And why? How did I come to do it?"--"Because you married her," answered an inner voice.

"But in what was I to blame?" he asked.