Returning from the church, Nekhludoff broke his fast with the aunts,
and to repair his strength, drank some brandy and wine--a habit he
acquired in the army--and going to his room immediately fell asleep
with his clothes on. He was awakened by a rap at the door. By the rap
he knew that it was she, so he rose, rubbing his eyes and stretching
himself.
"Is it you, Katiousha? Come in," he said, rising.
She opened the door.
"You are wanted to breakfast," she said. She was in the same white
dress, but without the bow in her hair.
As she looked in his eyes she brightened up, as if she had announced
something unusually pleasant.
"I shall come immediately," he answered, taking a comb to rearrange
his hair.
She lingered for a moment. He noticed it, and putting down the comb,
he moved toward her. But at the same moment she quickly turned and
walked off with her customary light and agile step along the narrow
mat of the corridor.
"What a fool I am!" Nekhludoff said to himself. "Why did I not detain
her?" And he ran after her.
He did not know himself what he wished of her, but it seemed to him
that when she entered his room he ought to have done something that
any one in his place would have done, but which he failed to do.
"Wait, Katiousha," he said.
She looked around.
"What is it?" she said, stopping.
"Nothing. I only----"
With some effort he overcame his shyness, and remembering how people
generally act in such a case, he put his arm about Katiousha's waist.
She stopped and looked in his eyes.
"Don't, Ivanovich, don't," she said, blushing until her eyes filled
with tears. Then with her rough, strong hands she removed his arm.
Nekhludoff released her, and for a moment felt not only awkward and
ashamed, but seemed odious to himself. He should have believed in
himself, but he failed to understand that this awkwardness and shame
were the noblest feelings of his soul begging for recognition, and, on
the contrary, it seemed to him that it was his foolishness that was
speaking within him, that he ought to have done as everybody does in a
similar case.
He overtook her again, again embraced her and kissed her on the neck.
This kiss was entirely unlike the other two kisses. The first was
given unconsciously, behind the lilac bush; the second, in the morning
in church. The last one was terrible, and she felt it.
"But what are you doing?" she exclaimed in such a voice, as if he had
irrecoverably destroyed something infinitely precious, and ran away
from him.
He went to the dining-room. His aunts in holiday attire, the doctor
and a neighbor were taking lunch standing. Everything was as usual,
but a storm raged in Nekhludoff's soul. He did not understand what was
said to him, his answers were inappropriate, and he was thinking only
of Katiousha, recalling the sensation of the last kiss he gave her
when he overtook her in the corridor. He could think of nothing else.
When she entered the room, without looking at her, he felt her
presence with all his being, and had to make an effort not to look at
her.
After lunch he went immediately to his room, and in great agitation
walked to and fro, listening to the sounds in the house and waiting to
hear her steps. The animal man that dwelled in him not only raised his
head, but crushed under foot the spiritual man that he was when he
first arrived at the manor, and was even this very morning in church,
and that terrible animal man now held sway in his soul. Although
Nekhludoff was watching an opportunity to meet Katiousha that day, he
did not succeed in seeing her face to face even once. She was probably
avoiding him. But in the evening it happened that she had to enter a
room adjoining his. The physician was to remain over night, and
Katiousha had to make the bed for him. Hearing her steps, Nekhludoff,
stepping on tip-toe and holding his breath, as though preparing to
commit a crime, followed her into the room.
Thrusting both her hands into a white pillow-case, and taking hold of
two corners of the pillow, she turned her head and looked at him
smiling, but it was not the old, cheerful, happy smile, but a
frightened, piteous smile. The smile seemed to tell him that what he
was doing was wrong. For a moment he stood still. There was still the
possibility of a struggle. Though weak, the voice of his true love to
her was still heard; it spoke of her, of her feelings, of her life.
The other voice reminded him of his enjoyment, his happiness. And this
second voice stifled the first. He approached her with determination.
And the terrible, irresistible animal feeling mastered him.
Without releasing her from his embrace, Nekhludoff seated her on the
bed, and feeling that something else ought to be done, seated himself
beside her.
"Dmitri Ivanovich, darling, please let me go," she said in a piteous
voice. "Matriena Pavlovna is coming!" she suddenly exclaimed, tearing
herself away.
Matriena Pavlovna was really approaching the door. She entered the
room, holding a quilt on her arm, and, looking reproachfully at
Nekhludoff, angrily rebuked Katiousha for taking the wrong quilt.
Nekhludoff went out in silence. He was not even ashamed. By the
expression of Matriena Pavlovna's face he saw that she condemned him,
and justly so; he knew that what he was doing was wrong, but the
animal feeling, which succeeded his former feeling of pure love to
her, seized him and held sole sway over him; recognizing no other
feeling. He knew now what was necessary to do in order to satisfy that
feeling, and was looking for means to that end.
He was out of sorts all that night. Now he would go to his aunts; now
he returned to his room, or went to the perron, thinking but of one
thing: how to meet her alone. But she avoided him, and Matriena
Pavlovna strove not to lose sight of her.