“Here, miss, speak to him,” said the old housewife; “this is the prince himself.  I shall go out meanwhile.”

“In what way can I be of service to you?” Nekhludoff asked.

“I—­I—­I see you are throwing away your money on such nonsense—­on hunting,” began the girl, in great confusion.  “I know—­I only want one thing—­to be of use to the people, and I can do nothing because I know nothing—­” Her eyes were so truthful, so kind, and her expression of resoluteness and yet bashfulness was so touching, that Nekhludoff, as it often happened to him, suddenly felt as if he were in her position, understood, and sympathised.

“What can I do, then?”

“I am a teacher, but should like to follow a course of study; and I am not allowed to do so.  That is, not that I am not allowed to; they’d allow me to, but I have not got the means.  Give them to me, and when I have finished the course I shall repay you.  I am thinking the rich kill bears and give the peasants drink; all this is bad.  Why should they not do good?  I only want 80 roubles.  But if you don’t wish to, never mind,” she added, gravely.

“On the contrary, I am very grateful to you for this opportunity. . . .  I will bring it at once,” said Nekhludoff.

He went out into the passage, and there met one of his comrades, who had been overhearing his conversation.  Paying no heed to his chaffing, Nekhludoff got the money out of his bag and took it to her.

“Oh, please, do not thank me; it is I who should thank you,” he said.

It was pleasant to remember all this now; pleasant to remember that he had nearly had a quarrel with an officer who tried to make an objectionable joke of it, and how another of his comrades had taken his part, which led to a closer friendship between them.  How successful the whole of that hunting expedition had been, and how happy he had felt when returning to the railway station that night.  The line of sledges, the horses in tandem, glide quickly along the narrow road that lies through the forest, now between high trees, now between low firs weighed down by the snow, caked in heavy lumps on their branches.  A red light flashes in the dark, some one lights an aromatic cigarette.  Joseph, a bear driver, keeps running from sledge to sledge, up to his knees in snow, and while putting things to rights he speaks about the elk which are now going about on the deep snow and gnawing the bark off the aspen trees, of the bears that are lying asleep in their deep hidden dens, and his breath comes warm through the opening in the sledge cover.  All this came back to Nekhludoff’s mind; but, above all, the joyous sense of health, strength, and freedom from care:  the lungs breathing in the frosty air so deeply that the fur cloak is drawn tightly on his chest, the fine snow drops off the low branches on to his face, his body is warm, his face feels fresh, and his soul is free from care, self-reproach, fear, or desire.  How beautiful it was.  And now, O God! what torment, what trouble!