“Papa is not home,” angrily said a pale, wretched looking girl with puffed-up hair and blue spots under her eyes, who came to the door.  Seeing a young man in a good overcoat, she became calm.  “Walk in, please.  What do you wish to see him for?”

“I would like to see a prisoner.  I hold a pass from the prosecutor.”

“Well, I don’t know; papa is not in.  Why, walk in, please,” she again called from the entrance hall.  “Or apply to his assistant, who is now in the office.  You may talk to him.  And what is your name?”

“Thank you,” said Nekhludoff, without answering the question, and went away.

Scarcely had the door closed when the same vigorous, merry sound, so inappropriate to the place and so persistently rehearsed by the wretched girl, was heard.  In the court-yard Nekhludoff met a young officer with a stiff, dyed mustache, of whom he inquired for the assistant.  He himself was the assistant.  He took the pass, looked at it, and said that he could not admit any one to the prison on a pass for the detention-house.  Besides, it was late.

“At ten o’clock to-morrow the prison is open to all visitors, and the inspector will be here.  You could then see her in the common reception-room, or, if the inspector permits it, in the office.”

So, without gaining an interview, Nekhludoff returned home.  Agitated by the expectation of seeing her, he walked along the streets, thinking not of the court, but of his conversations with the prosecutor and the inspectors.  That he was seeking an interview with her, and told the prosecutor of his intention, and visited two prisons preparing for the ordeal, had so excited him that he could not calm down.  On returning home he immediately brought forth his unused diary, read some parts and made the following entry:  “For two years I have kept no diary, and thought that I should never again return to this childishness.  But it was no childishness, but a discourse with myself, with that true, divine I which lives in every man.  All this time this I was slumbering and I had no one to discourse with.  It was awakened by the extraordinary event of the 28th of April, in court, where I sat as jurymen.  I saw her, Katiousha, whom I had deceived, on the prisoners’ bench, in a prison coat.  Through a strange misunderstanding and my mistake, she was sentenced to penal servitude.  I have just returned from the prosecutor and the prison.  I was not permitted to see her, but I am determined to do anything to see her, acknowledge my guilt and make reparation even by marrying her.  Lord, help me!  My soul is rejoicing.”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

For a long time that night Maslova lay awake with open eyes, and, looking at the door, mused.