Nekhludoff tore himself loose, and, without bowing or saying anything, gloomily passed through the reception-room, the parlor and by the lackeys, who sprang to their feet in the ante-chamber, to the street.

“What is the matter with him?  What did you do to him?” Annette asked her husband.

“That is a la francaise,” said some one.

“Rather a la zoulon.”

“Oh, he has always been queer.”

Some one arose, some one arrived, and the chirping continued.

The following morning Nekhludoff received from Maslenikoff a letter on heavy, glossy paper, bearing a coat-of-arms and seals, written in a fine, firm hand, in which he said that he had written to the prison physician asking that Maslova be transferred, and that he hoped his request would be acceded to.  It was signed, “Your loving senior comrade,” followed by a remarkably skillful flourish.

“Fool!” Nekhludoff could not help exclaiming, especially because he felt that by the word “comrade” Maslenikoff was condescending, i. e., although he considered himself a very important personage, he nevertheless was not too proud of his greatness, and called himself his comrade.

CHAPTER LVII.

One of the most popular superstitions consists in the belief that every man is endowed with definite qualities—­that some men are kind, some wicked; some wise, some foolish; some energetic, some apathetic, etc.  This is not true.  We may say of a man that he is oftener kind than wicked; oftener wise than foolish; oftener energetic than apathetic, and vice versa.  But it would not be true to say of one man that he is always kind or wise, and of another that he is always wicked or foolish.  And yet we thus divide people.  This is erroneous.  Men are like rivers—­the water in all of them, and at every point, is the same, but every one of them is now narrow, now swift, now wide, now calm, now clear, now cold, now muddy, now warm.  So it is with men.  Every man bears within him the germs of all human qualities, sometimes manifesting one quality, sometimes another; and often does not resemble himself at all, manifesting no change.  With some people these changes are particularly sharp.  And to this class Nekhludoff belonged.  These changes in him had both physical and spiritual causes; and one of these changes he was now undergoing.

That feeling of solemnity and joy of rejuvenation which he had experienced after the trial and after his first meeting with Katiousha had passed away, and, after the last meeting, fear and even disgust toward her had taken its place.  He was also conscious that his duty was burdensome to him.  He had decided not to leave her, to carry out his intention of marrying her, if she so desired; but this was painful and tormenting to him.

On the day following his visit to Maslenikoff he again went to the prison to see her.

The inspector permitted him to see her; not in the office, however, nor in the lawyer’s room, but in the women’s visiting-room.  Notwithstanding his kind-heartedness, the inspector was more reserved than formerly.  Evidently Nekhludoff’s conversations with Maslenikoff had resulted in instructions being given to be more careful with this visitor.