There is a point in the love between man and woman when that love reaches its zenith; when it is free from consciousness, reason and sensuality.  Such a moment arrived for Nekhludoff that Easter morn.

Now, whenever he thought of Katiousha, her appearance at that moment obscured every other recollection of her.  The dark, smooth, resplendent head; the white dress with folds clinging to her graceful bust and undulating breast; those vermilion cheeks, those brilliant black eyes, and two main traits in all her being:  the virgin purity of her love, not only for himself, but for everything and everybody—­he knew it—­not only the good and beautiful, but even that beggar whom she had kissed.

He knew that she possessed that love, because that night and that morning he felt it within him, and felt that in that love his soul mingled into one with hers.

Ah, if that feeling had continued unchanged!  “Yes, that awful affair occurred after that notable commemoration of Christ’s resurrection!” he thought now, sitting at the window of the jury-room.

CHAPTER XVI.

Returning from the church, Nekhludoff broke his fast with the aunts, and to repair his strength, drank some brandy and wine—­a habit he acquired in the army—­and going to his room immediately fell asleep with his clothes on.  He was awakened by a rap at the door.  By the rap he knew that it was she, so he rose, rubbing his eyes and stretching himself.

“Is it you, Katiousha?  Come in,” he said, rising.

She opened the door.

“You are wanted to breakfast,” she said.  She was in the same white dress, but without the bow in her hair.

As she looked in his eyes she brightened up, as if she had announced something unusually pleasant.

“I shall come immediately,” he answered, taking a comb to rearrange his hair.

She lingered for a moment.  He noticed it, and putting down the comb, he moved toward her.  But at the same moment she quickly turned and walked off with her customary light and agile step along the narrow mat of the corridor.

“What a fool I am!” Nekhludoff said to himself.  “Why did I not detain her?” And he ran after her.

He did not know himself what he wished of her, but it seemed to him that when she entered his room he ought to have done something that any one in his place would have done, but which he failed to do.

“Wait, Katiousha,” he said.

She looked around.

“What is it?” she said, stopping.

“Nothing.  I only——­”

With some effort he overcame his shyness, and remembering how people generally act in such a case, he put his arm about Katiousha’s waist.

She stopped and looked in his eyes.

“Don’t, Ivanovich, don’t,” she said, blushing until her eyes filled with tears.  Then with her rough, strong hands she removed his arm.