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 that squinting glance that always peculiarly affected him.  For a few seconds they looked silently at each other.  That glance was significant to both.

“You must decide,” repeated Nekhludoff.

“Decide what?” she said.  “It has all been decided long ago.  It is you who must decide whether you will accept the offer of Vladimir Ivanovitch,” she continued, frowning.

“But if a pardon should come?” said Nekhludoff.

“Oh, leave me alone.  It is useless to talk any more,” she answered, and, rising, left the cell.

Gaining the street, Nekhludoff stopped, and, expanding his chest, drew in the frosty air.

The following morning a soldier brought him a note from Maria Pablovna, in which she said that Kryltzoff’s condition was worse than they thought it to be.

“At one time we intended to remain here with him, but they would not allow it.  So we are taking him with us, but we fear the worst.  Try to so arrange in town that if he is left behind some one of us shall remain with him.  If it is necessary for that purpose that I should marry him, then, of course, I am ready to do it.”