ent for him.
Everything seemed to be satisfactory, and yet Nekhludoff felt sad and
lonesome, but, above all, his conscience troubled him. He saw that
although the peasants spoke words of thanks, they were not satisfied
and expected something more. The result was that while he deprived
himself of much, he failed to do that which the peasants expected.

On the following day, after the contract was signed, Nekhludoff, with
an unpleasant feeling of having left something undone, seated himself
in the "dandy" three-horse team and took leave of the peasants, who
were shaking their heads in doubt and dissatisfaction. Nekhludoff was
dissatisfied with himself--he could not tell why, but he felt sad, and
was ashamed of something.

CHAPTER III.

From Kusminskoie Nekhludoff went to Panovo, the estate left him by his
aunts, and where he had first seen Katiousha. He intended to dispose
of this land in the same manner as he disposed of the other, and also
desired to learn all there was known about Katiousha, and to find out
if it was true that their child had died.

As he sat at the window observing the familiar scenery of the now
somewhat neglected estate, he not only recalled, but felt himself as
he was fourteen years ago; fresh, pure and filled with the hope of
endless possibilities. But as it happens in a dream, he knew that that
was gone, and he became very sad.

Before breakfast he made his way to the hut of Matrena Kharina,
Katiousha's aunt, who was selling liquor surreptitiously, for
information about the child, but all he could learn from her was that
the child had died on the way to a Moskow asylum; in proof of which
the midwife had brought a certificate.

On his way back he entered the huts of some peasants, and inquired
about their mode of living. The same complaints of the paucity of
land, hunger and degradation he heard everywhere. He saw the same
pinched faces, threadbare homespuns, bare feet and bent shoulders.

In front of a particularly dilapidated hut stood a number of women
with children in their arms, and among them he noticed a lean,
pale-faced woman, easily holding a bloodless child in a short garment
made of pieces of stuff. This child was incessantly smiling.
Nekhludoff knew that it was the smile of suffering. He asked who that
woman was.

It transpired that the woman's husband had been in prison for the past
six months--"feeding the insects"--as they termed it, for cutting down
two lindens.