"So, that is how it is!" thought Nekhludoff as he made his way out of
the prison, and he only now realized the extent of his guilt. Had he
not attempted to efface and atone for his conduct, he should never
have felt all the infamy of it, nor she all the wrong perpetrated
against her. Only now it all came out in all its horror. He now for
the first time perceived how her soul had been debased, and she
finally understood it. At first Nekhludoff had played with his
feelings and delighted in his own contrition; now he was simply
horrified. He now felt that to abandon her was impossible. And yet he
could not see the result of these relations.
At the prison gate some one handed Nekhludoff a note. He read it when
on the street. The note was written in a bold hand, with pencil, and
contained the following:
"Having learned that you are visiting the prison I thought
it would be well to see you. You can see me by asking the
authorities for an interview with me. I will tell you
something very important to your protege as well as to the
politicals. Thankfully, Vera Bogodukhovskaia"
"Bogodukhovskaia! Who is Bogodukhovskaia?" thought Nekhludoff,
entirely absorbed in the impression of his meeting with Maslova, and
failing at the first moment to recall either the name or the
handwriting. "Oh, yes!" he suddenly recalled. "The deacon's daughter
at the bear-hunt."
Vera Bogodukhovskaia was a teacher in the obscure district of
Novgorod, whither Nekhludoff, on one occasion, went bear hunting with
his friends. This teacher had asked Nekhludoff to give her some money
to enable her to study. He gave it to her, and the incident dropped
from his memory. And now it seemed that this lady was a political
prisoner, had probably learned his history in prison, and was now
offering her services. At that time everything was easy and simple;
now everything was difficult and complex. Nekhludoff readily and
joyfully recalled that time and his acquaintance with Bogodukhovskaia.
It was on the eve of Shrovetide, in the wilds about sixty versts from
the railroad. The hunt was successful; two bears were bagged, and they
were dining before their journey home, when the woodsman, in whose hut
they were stopping, came to tell them that the deacon's daughter had
come and wished to see Prince Nekhludoff.
"Is she good looking?" some one asked.
"Come, come!" said Nekhludoff, rising, and wondering why the deacon's
daughter should want him, assumed a grave expression and went to the
woodsman's hut.
In the hut there was a girl in a felt hat and short fur coat, sinewy,
and with an ugly and unpleasant face, relieved, however, by her
pleasant eyes and raised eyebrows.
"This is the Prince, Vera Efremovna," said the old hostess. "I will
leave you."
"What can I do for you?" asked Nekhludoff.
"I--I--You see, you are rich and throw away your money on trifles, on
a chase. I know," began the girl, becoming confused, "but I wish but
one thing; I wish to be useful to people, and can do nothing because I
know nothing."
"What, then, can I do for you?"
"I am a teacher, and would like to enter college, but they don't let
me. It is not exactly that they don't let me, but we have no means.
Let me have some money; when I am through with my studies I shall
return it to you."
Her eyes were truthful and kindly, and the expression of resolution
and timidity on her face was so touching that Nekhludoff, as it was
usual with him, suddenly mentally placed himself in her position,
understood and pitied her.
"I think it is wrong for rich people to kill bears and get the
peasants drunk. Why don't they make themselves useful? I only need
eighty rubles. Oh, if you don't wish to, it is all the same to me,"
she said, angrily, interpreting the grave expression on Nekhludoff's
face to her disadvantage.
"On the contrary, I am very thankful to you for the opportunity----"
When she understood that he consented her face turned a purple color
and she became silent.
"I will fetch it immediately," said Nekhludoff.
He went into the entrance hall where he found an eavesdropping friend.
Without taking notice of his comrade's jests, he took the money from
his hand-bag and brought it to her.
"Please don't be thanking me. It is I who ought to be thankful to
you."
It was pleasant to Nekhludoff to recall all that; it was pleasant to
recall how he came near quarreling with the army officer who attempted
to make a bad joke of it; how another comrade sided with him, which
drew them more closely together; how merry and successful was the
hunt, and how happy he felt that night returning to the railroad
station. A long file of sleighs moved noiselessly in pairs at a gentle
trot along the narrow fir-lined path of the forests, which were
covered with a heavy layer of snowflakes. Some one struck a red light
in the dark, and the pleasant aroma of a good cigarette was wafted
toward him. Osip, the sleigh-tender, ran from sleigh to sleigh,
knee-deep in snow, telling of the elks that were roaming in the deep
snow, nibbling the bark of aspen trees, and of the bears emitting
their warm breath through the airholes of their wild haunts.
Nekhludoff remembered all that, and above all the happy consciousness
of his own health, strength and freedom from care. His lungs,
straining his tight-fitting fur coat, inhaled the frosty air; the
trees, grazed by the shaft, sent showers of white flakes into his
face; his body was warm, his face ruddy; his soul was without a care
or blemish, or fear or desire. How happy he was! But now? My God! How
painful and unbearable it all was!