“You can do nothing with this woman,” said the voice; “you will only tie a stone round your neck, which will help to drown you and hinder you from being useful to others.

“Is it not better to give her all the money that is here, say good-bye, and finish with her forever?” whispered the voice.

But here he felt that now, at this very moment, something most important was taking place in his soul—­that his inner life was, as it were, wavering in the balance, so that the slightest effort would make it sink to this side or the other.  And he made this effort by calling to his assistance that God whom he had felt in his soul the day before, and that God instantly responded.  He resolved to tell her everything now—­at once.

“Katusha, I have come to ask you to forgive me, and you have given me no answer.  Have you forgiven me?  Will you ever forgive me?” he asked.

She did not listen to him, but looked at his hand and at the inspector, and when the latter turned she hastily stretched out her hand, grasped the note, and hid it under her belt.

“That’s odd, what you are saying there,” she said, with a smile of contempt, as it seemed to him.

Nekhludoff felt that there was in her soul one who was his enemy and who was protecting her, such as she was now, and preventing him from getting at her heart.  But, strange to say, this did not repel him, but drew him nearer to her by some fresh, peculiar power.  He knew that he must waken her soul, that this was terribly difficult, but the very difficulty attracted him.  He now felt towards her as he had never felt towards her or any one else before.  There was nothing personal in this feeling:  he wanted nothing from her for himself, but only wished that she might not remain as she now was, that she might awaken and become again what she had been.

“Katusha, why do you speak like that?  I know you; I remember you—­and the old days in Papovo.”

“What’s the use of recalling what’s past?” she remarked, drily.

“I am recalling it in order to put it right, to atone for my sin, Katusha,” and he was going to say that he would marry her, but, meeting her eyes, he read in them something so dreadful, so coarse, so repellent, that he could not go on.

At this moment the visitors began to go.  The inspector came up to Nekhludoff and said that the time was up.

“Good-bye; I have still much to say to you, but you see it is impossible to do so now,” said Nekhludoff, and held out his hand.  “I shall come again.”

“I think you have said all.”

She took his hand but did not press it.

“No; I shall try to see you again, somewhere where we can talk, and then I shall tell you what I have to say-something very important.”

“Well, then, come; why not?” she answered, and smiled with that habitual, inviting, and promising smile which she gave to the men whom she wished to please.