that exalted love of his (he has not spoken to her about
it), is flattered by it, and fears it. You know that I am not
competent in these matters, but I think that his love is that of the
ordinary man, although it is masked. He says that it rouses his energy
and that it is a platonic love; but it has nothing but nastiness for
its basis."

"But what am I to do?" asked Nekhludoff.

"I think it is best that you have a talk with her. It is always better
to make everything clear. Shall I call her?" said Maria Pablovna.

"If you please," answered Nekhludoff, and Maria Pablovna went out.

Nekhludoff was seized with a strange feeling when, alone in the small
cell, he listened to the quiet breathing of Vera Efremovna,
interrupted by an occasional moan, and the constant din coming from
the cells of the convicts.

That which Simonson had told him freed him from his self-imposed
obligation, which, in a moment of weakness, seemed to him burdensome
and dreadful; and yet it was not only unpleasant, but painful. The
offer of Simonson destroyed the exclusiveness of his act, minimized in
his own and other people's eyes the value of the sacrifice he was
making. If such a good man as Simonson, who was under no obligation to
her, wished to join his fate to hers, then his own sacrifice was no
longer so important. Maybe there was also the ordinary feeling of
jealousy; he was so used to her love that he could not think that she
was capable of loving any one else. Besides, his plans were now
shattered, especially the plan of living near her while she served her
sentence. If she married Simonson, his presence was no longer
necessary, and that required a rearrangement of his projects. He could
scarcely collect his thoughts, when Katiousha entered the cell.

With quick step she approached him.

"Maria Pablovna sent me," she said, stopping near him.

"Yes, I would like to talk with you. Take a seat. Vladimir Ivanovitch
spoke to me."

She seated herself, crossed her hands on her knees, and seemed calm.
But as soon as Nekhludoff pronounced Simonson's name, her face turned
a purple color.

"What did he tell you?" she asked.

"He told me that he wishes to marry you."

Her face suddenly became wrinkled, evidencing suffering, but she
remained silent, only looking at the floor.

"He asked my consent or advice. I told him that it all rests with you;
that you must decide."

"Oh, what is it all for?" she said, and looked at Nekhludoff with