Maslova looked round, and with head thrown back and expanded chest, came up to the net with that expression of readiness which he well knew, pushed in between two prisoners, and gazed at Nekhludoff with a surprised and questioning look. But, concluding from his clothing he was a rich man, she smiled.
"Is it me you want?" she asked, bringing her smiling face, with the slightly squinting eyes, nearer the net.
"I, I--I wished to see "Nekhludoff did not know how to address her. "I wished to see you--I--" He was not speaking louder than usual.
"No; nonsense, I tell you!" shouted the tramp who stood next to him. "Have you taken it or not?"
"Dying, I tell you; what more do you want?" some one else was screaming at his other side. Maslova could not hear what Nekhludoff was saying, but the expression of his face as he was speaking reminded her of him. She did not believe her own eyes; still the smile vanished from her face and a deep line of suffering appeared on her brow.
"I cannot hear what you are saying," she called out, wrinkling her brow and frowning more and more.
"I have come," said Nekhludoff. "Yes, I am doing my duty--I am confessing," thought Nekhludoff; and at this thought the tears came in his eyes, and he felt a choking sensation in his throat, and holding on with both hands to the net, he made efforts to keep from bursting into tears.
"I say, why do you shove yourself in where you're not wanted?" some one shouted at one side of him.
"God is my witness; I know nothing," screamed a prisoner from the other side.
Noticing his excitement, Maslova recognised him.
"You're like . . . but no; I don't know you," she shouted, without looking at him, and blushing, while her face grew still more stern.
"I have come to ask you to forgive me," he said, in a loud but monotonous voice, like a lesson learnt by heart. Having said these words he became confused; but immediately came the thought that, if he felt ashamed, it was all the better; he had to bear this shame, and he continued in a loud voice:
"Forgive me; I have wronged you terribly."
She stood motionless and without taking her squinting eyes off him.
He could not continue to speak, and stepping away from the net he tried to suppress the sobs that were choking him.
The inspector, the same officer who had directed Nekhludoff to the women's ward, and whose interest he seemed to have aroused, came into the room, and, seeing Nekhludoff not at the net, asked him why he was not talking to her whom he wanted to see.
Nekhludoff blew his nose, gave himself a shake, and, trying to appear calm, said:
"It's so inconvenient through these nets; nothing can be heard."
Again the inspector considered for a moment.
"Ah, well, she can be brought out here for awhile. Mary Karlovna," turning to the warder, "lead Maslova out."
A minute later Maslova came out of the side door. Stepping softly, she came up close to Nekhludoff, stopped, and looked up at him from under her brows. Her black hair was arranged in ringlets over her forehead in the same way as it had been two days ago; her face, though unhealthy and puffy, was attractive, and looked perfectly calm, only the glittering black eyes glanced strangely from under the swollen lids.
"You may talk here," said the inspector, and shrugging his shoulders he stepped aside with a look of surprise. Nekhludoff moved towards a seat by the wall.
Maslova cast a questioning look at the inspector, and then, shrugging her shoulders in surprise, followed Nekhludoff to the bench, and having arranged her skirt, sat down beside him.
"I know it is hard for you to forgive me," he began, but stopped.
His tears were choking him. "But though I can't undo the past, I shall now do what is in my power. Tell me--"
"How have you managed to find me?" she said, without answering his question, neither looking away from him nor quite at him, with her squinting eyes.
"O God, help me! Teach me what to do," Nekhludoff thought, looking at her changed face. "I was on the jury the day before yesterday," he said. "You did not recognise me?"
"No, I did not; there was not time for recognitions. I did not even look," she said.
"There was a child, was there not?" he asked.
"Thank God! he died at once," she answered, abruptly and viciously.
"What do you mean? Why?"
"I was so ill myself, I nearly died," she said, in the same quiet voice, which Nekhludoff had not expected and could not understand.
"How could my aunts have let you go?"
"Who keeps a servant that has a baby? They sent me off as soon as they noticed. But why speak of this? I remember nothing. That's all finished."
"No, it is not finished; I wish to redeem my sin."
"There's nothing to redeem. What's been has been and is passed," she said; and, what he never expected, she looked at him and smiled in an unpleasantly luring, yet piteous, manner.
