Vronsky, meanwhile, in spite of the complete realization of what he had so long desired, was not perfectly happy. He soon felt that the realization of his desires gave him no more than a grain of sand out of the mountain of happiness he had expected. It showed him the mistake men make in picturing to themselves happiness as the realization of their desires. For a time after joining his life to hers, and putting on civilian dress, he had felt all the delight of freedom in general of which he had known nothing before, and of freedom in his love, — and he was content, but not for long. He was soon aware that there was springing up in his heart a desire for desires — ennui.

Without conscious intention he began to clutch at every passing caprice, taking it for a desire and an object. Sixteen hours of the day