Wolf, with a flattering and somewhat derisive smile—­it was an involuntary expression of his consciousness of his comme il faut superiority—­halted in his exercise long enough to greet Nekhludoff and read the note.

“Please take a seat, but you must excuse me.  If you have no objection I will walk,” he said, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and treading lightly up and down the diagonal of the large cabinet, furnished in an austere style.  “Very glad to make your acquaintance, and, of course, to please the Count Ivan Michaelovitch,” emitting the fragrant, blue smoke, and carefully removing the cigar from his mouth so as not to lose the ashes.

“I would like to ask you to hasten the hearing of the appeal, because if the prisoner is to go to Siberia, it would be desirable that she go as soon as possible,” said Nekhludoff.

“Yes, yes, with the first steamer from Nijhni; I know,” said Wolf, with his condescending smile, who always knew everything in advance, whatever the subject mentioned to him.  “What is the name of the prisoner?”

“Maslova.”

Wolf walked to the table and looked into the papers.

“That’s right—­Maslova.  Very well; I will ask my associates.  We will hear the case Wednesday.”

“May I wire my lawyer?”

“So you have a lawyer?  What for?  But if you wish it, all right.”

“The grounds of appeal may be insufficient,” said Nekhludoff, “but I think it may be seen from the case that the sentence was the result of a misunderstanding.”

“Yes, yes; that may be so, but the Senate cannot enter into the merits of the case,” said Vladimir Vasilievitch, sternly, glancing at the ashes of his cigar.  “The Senate only looks after the proper interpretation and application of the law.”

“This, I think, is an exceptional case.”

“I know; I know.  All cases are exceptional.  We will do what the law requires.  That is all.”  The ashes were still intact, but had already cracked and were in danger of collapse.  “And do you often visit St. Petersburg?” asked Wolf, holding the cigar so that the ashes would not fall.  The ashes were unstable, however, and Wolf carefully carried them to the ash-holder, into which they were finally precipitated.

“What an awful catastrophe Kamensky met with,” said Wolf.  “A fine young man, and an only son.  Especially the condition of the mother”—­he went on repeating almost word for word the story of a duel of which all St. Petersburg was talking at the time.  After a few more words about Countess Catherine Ivanovna and her passion for the new religious tendency which Vladimir Vasilievitch neither praised nor condemned, but which, for un homme tres comme il faut, was evidently superfluous, he rang the bell.

Nekhludoff bowed himself out.

“If it is convenient for you, come to dinner,” said Wolf, extending his hand, “say on Wednesday.  I will then give you a definite answer.”