There were still two hours before the passenger train by which Nekhludoff was going would start.  He had thought of using this interval to see his sister again; but after the impressions of the morning he felt much excited and so done up that, sitting down on a sofa in the first-class refreshment-room, he suddenly grew so drowsy that he turned over on to his side, and, laying his face on his hand, fell asleep at once.  A waiter in a dress coat with a napkin in his hand woke him.

“Sir, sir, are you not Prince Nekhludoff?  There’s a lady looking for you.”

Nekhludoff started up and recollected where he was and all that had happened in the morning.

He saw in his imagination the procession of prisoners, the dead bodies, the railway carriages with barred windows, and the women locked up in them, one of whom was groaning in travail with no one to help her, and another who was pathetically smiling at him through the bars.

The reality before his eyes was very different, i.e., a table with vases, candlesticks and crockery, and agile waiters moving round the table, and in the background a cupboard and a counter laden with fruit and bottles, behind it a barman, and in front the backs of passengers who had come up for refreshments.  When Nekhludoff had risen and sat gradually collecting his thoughts, he noticed that everybody in the room was inquisitively looking at something that was passing by the open doors.

He also looked, and saw a group of people carrying a chair on which sat a lady whose head was wrapped in a kind of airy fabric.

Nekhludoff thought he knew the footman who was supporting the chair in front.  And also the man behind, and a doorkeeper with gold cord on his cap, seemed familiar.  A lady’s maid with a fringe and an apron, who was carrying a parcel, a parasol, and something round in a leather case, was walking behind the chair.  Then came Prince Korchagin, with his thick lips, apoplectic neck, and a travelling cap on his head; behind him Missy, her cousin Misha, and an acquaintance of Nekhludoff’s—­the long-necked diplomat Osten, with his protruding Adam’s apple and his unvarying merry mood and expression.  He was saying something very emphatically, though jokingly, to the smiling Missy.  The Korchagins were moving from their estate near the city to the estate of the Princess’s sister on the Nijni railway.  The procession—­the men carrying the chair, the maid, and the doctor—­vanished into the ladies’ waiting-room, evoking a feeling of curiosity and respect in the onlookers.  But the old Prince remained and sat down at the table, called a waiter, and ordered food and drink.  Missy and Osten also remained in the refreshment-room and were about to sit down, when they saw an acquaintance in the doorway, and went up to her.  It was Nathalie Rogozhinsky.  Nathalie came into the refreshment-room accompanied by Agraphena Petrovna, and both looked round the room.  Nathalie noticed at one and the same moment both her brother and Missy.  She first went up to Missy, only nodding to her brother; but, having kissed her, at once turned to him.