The inspector, the same officer who had directed Nekhludoff to the women’s ward, and whose interest he seemed to have aroused, came into the room, and, seeing Nekhludoff not at the net, asked him why he was not talking to her whom he wanted to see.  Nekhludoff blew his nose, gave himself a shake, and, trying to appear calm, said: 

“It’s so inconvenient through these nets; nothing can be heard.”

Again the inspector considered for a moment.

“Ah, well, she can be brought out here for awhile.  Mary Karlovna,” turning to the warder, “lead Maslova out.”

A minute later Maslova came out of the side door.  Stepping softly, she came up close to Nekhludoff, stopped, and looked up at him from under her brows.  Her black hair was arranged in ringlets over her forehead in the same way as it had been two days ago; her face, though unhealthy and puffy, was attractive, and looked perfectly calm, only the glittering black eyes glanced strangely from under the swollen lids.

“You may talk here,” said the inspector, and shrugging his shoulders he stepped aside with a look of surprise.  Nekhludoff moved towards a seat by the wall.

Maslova cast a questioning look at the inspector, and then, shrugging her shoulders in surprise, followed Nekhludoff to the bench, and having arranged her skirt, sat down beside him.

“I know it is hard for you to forgive me,” he began, but stopped.  His tears were choking him.  “But though I can’t undo the past, I shall now do what is in my power.  Tell me—­”

“How have you managed to find me?” she said, without answering his question, neither looking away from him nor quite at him, with her squinting eyes.

“O God, help me!  Teach me what to do,” Nekhludoff thought, looking at her changed face.  “I was on the jury the day before yesterday,” he said.  “You did not recognise me?”

“No, I did not; there was not time for recognitions.  I did not even look,” she said.

“There was a child, was there not?” he asked.

“Thank God! he died at once,” she answered, abruptly and viciously.

“What do you mean?  Why?”

“I was so ill myself, I nearly died,” she said, in the same quiet voice, which Nekhludoff had not expected and could not understand.

“How could my aunts have let you go?”

“Who keeps a servant that has a baby?  They sent me off as soon as they noticed.  But why speak of this?  I remember nothing.  That’s all finished.”

“No, it is not finished; I wish to redeem my sin.”

“There’s nothing to redeem.  What’s been has been and is passed,” she said; and, what he never expected, she looked at him and smiled in an unpleasantly luring, yet piteous, manner.