“But what are you going to do?” Nathalie continued.

“What I can.  I don’t know, but I feel I must do something.  And I shall do what I am able to.”

“Yes, I understand.  And how about them?” she continued, with a smile and a look towards Korchagin.  “Is it possible that it is all over?”

“Completely, and I think without any regret on either side.”

“It is a pity.  I am sorry.  I am fond of her.  However, it’s all right.  But why do you wish to bind yourself?” she added shyly.  “Why are you going?”

“I go because I must,” answered Nekhludoff, seriously and dryly, as if wishing to stop this conversation.  But he felt ashamed of his coldness towards his sister at once.  “Why not tell her all I am thinking?” he thought, “and let Agraphena Petrovna also hear it,” he thought, with a look at the old servant, whose presence made the wish to repeat his decision to his sister even stronger.

“You mean my intention to marry Katusha?  Well, you see, I made up my mind to do it, but she refuses definitely and firmly,” he said, and his voice shook, as it always did when he spoke of it.  “She does not wish to accept my sacrifice, but is herself sacrificing what in her position means much, and I cannot accept this sacrifice, if it is only a momentary impulse.  And so I am going with her, and shall be where she is, and shall try to lighten her fate as much as I can.”

Nathalie said nothing.  Agraphena Petrovna looked at her with a questioning look, and shook her head.  At this moment the former procession issued from the ladies’ room.  The same handsome footman (Philip). and the doorkeeper were carrying the Princess Korchagin.  She stopped the men who were carrying her, and motioned to Nekhludoff to approach, and, with a pitiful, languishing air, she extended her white, ringed hand, expecting the firm pressure of his hand with a sense of horror.

“Epouvantable!” she said, meaning the heat.  “I cannot stand it!  Ce climat me tue!” And, after a short talk about the horrors of the Russian climate, she gave the men a sign to go on.

“Be sure and come,” she added, turning her long face towards Nekhludoff as she was borne away.

The procession with the Princess turned to the right towards the first-class carriages.  Nekhludoff, with the porter who was carrying his things, and Taras with his bag, turned to the left.

“This is my companion,” said Nekhludoff to his sister, pointing to Taras, whose story he had told her before.

“Surely not third class?” said Nathalie, when Nekhludoff stopped in front of a third-class carriage, and Taras and the porter with the things went in.

“Yes; it is more convenient for me to be with Taras,” he said.  “One thing more,” he added; “up to now I have not given the Kousminski land to the peasants; so that, in case of my death, your children will inherit it.”

“Dmitri, don’t!” said Nathalie.