liceman, began to walk up and down the water-front.

"That one in the theatre also smiled that way when I entered," he
thought, "and the smile of the former conveyed the same meaning as
that of the latter. The only difference between them is that this one
speaks openly and plainly, while the other pretends to be exercising
higher and refined feelings. But in reality they are alike. This one
is at least truthful, while the other is lying." Nekhludoff recalled
his relations with the wife of the district commander, and a flood of
shameful recollections came upon him. "There is a disgusting
bestiality in man," he thought; "but when it is in a primitive state,
one looks down upon and despises it, whether he is carried away with
or withstands it. But when this same bestiality hides itself under a
so-called aesthetic, poetic cover, and demands to be worshiped, then,
deifying the beast, one gives himself up to it, without distinguishing
between the good and the bad. Then it is horrible."

As there was no soothing, rest-giving darkness that night, but instead
there was a hazy, cheerless, unnatural light, so even was there no
rest-giving darkness--ignorance--for Nekhludoff's soul. Everything was
clear. It was plain that all that is considered important and useful
is really insignificant and wicked, and that all that splendor and
luxury were hiding old crimes, familiar to every one, and not only
stalking unpunished, but triumphing and adorned with all the
allurements man is capable of conceiving.

Nekhludoff wished to forget it, not to see it, but he could no longer
help seeing it. Although he did not see the source of the light which
revealed these things to him, as he did not see the source of the
light which spread over St. Petersburg, and though this light seemed
to him hazy, cheerless and unnatural, he could not help seeing that
which the light revealed to him, and he felt at the same time both joy
and alarm.

CHAPTER XVII.

Immediately upon his arrival in Moskow, Nekhludoff made his way to the
prison hospital, intending to make known to Maslova the Senate's
decision and to tell her to prepare for the journey to Siberia.

Of the petition which he brought for Maslova's signature, he had
little hope. And, strange to say, he no longer wished to succeed. He
had accustomed himself to the thought of going to Siberia, and living
among the exiles and convicts, and it was difficult for him to imagine
how he should order