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 his life and that of Maslova if she were freed.

The door-keeper at the hospital, recognizing Nekhludoff, immediately informed him that Maslova was no longer there.

“Where is she, then?”

“Why, again in the prison.”

“Why was she transferred?” asked Nekhludoff.

“Your Excellency knows their kind,” said the door-keeper, with a contemptuous smile.  “She was making love to the assistant, so the chief physician sent her back.”

Nekhludoff did not suspect that Maslova and her spiritual condition were so close to him.  This news stunned him.  The feeling he experienced was akin to that which people experience when hearing suddenly of some great misfortune.  He was deeply grieved.  The first feeling he experienced was that of shame.  His joyful portraying of her spiritual awakening now seemed to him ridiculous.  Her reluctance to accept his sacrifice, the reproaches and the tears, were the mere cunning, he thought, of a dissolute woman who wished to make the most use of him.  It seemed to him now that at his last visit he had seen in her the symptoms of incorrigibility which were now evident.  All this flashed through his mind at the time he instinctively donned his hat and left the hospital.

“But what’s to be done now?” he asked himself.  “Am I bound to her?  Am I not released now by this, her act?”

But no sooner did he form the question than he understood that in considering himself released and leaving her to her fate he would be punishing not her, which he desired, but himself, and he was terrified.

“No!  That will not alter my decision—­it will only strengthen it.  Let her do whatever her soul prompts her to do; if she would make love to the assistant, let her do so.  It is her business.  It is my business to do what my conscience demands,” he said to himself.  “And my conscience demands that I sacrifice my liberty in expiation of my sin, and my decision to marry her, although but fictitiously, and follow her wherever she may be sent, remains unaltered,” he said to himself, with spiteful obstinacy, and, leaving the hospital, he made his way with resolute step to the prison gate.