Having said these words he became confused; but immediately came the thought that, if he felt ashamed, it was all the better; he had to bear this shame, and he continued in a loud voice:
"Forgive me; I have wronged you terribly."
She stood motionless and without taking her squinting eyes off him.
He could not continue to speak, and stepping away from the net he tried to suppress the sobs that were choking him.
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.
Maslova never expected to see him again, and certainly not here and not now; therefore, when she first recognised him, she could not keep back the memories which she never wished to revive.
In the first moment she remembered dimly that new, wonderful world of feeling and of thought which had been opened to her by the charming young man who loved her and whom she loved, and then his incomprehensible cruelty and the whole string of humiliations and suffering which flowed from and followed that magic joy.
This gave her pain, and, unable to understand it, she did what she was always in the habit of doing, she got rid of these memories by enveloping them in the mist of a depraved life.
In the first moment, she associated the man now sitting beside her with the lad she had loved; but feeling that this gave her pain, she dissociated them again.
Now, this well-dressed, carefully-got-up gentleman with perfumed beard was no longer the Nekhludoff whom she had loved but only one of the people who made use of creatures like herself when they needed them, and whom creatures like herself had to make use of in their turn as profitably as they could; and that is why she looked at him with a luring smile and considered silently how she could best make use of him.
"That's all at an end," she said. "Now I'm condemned to Siberia," and her lip trembled as she was saying this dreadful word.
"I knew; I was certain you were not guilty," said Nekhludoff.
"Guilty! of course not; as if I could be a thief or a robber."
She stopped, considering in what way she could best get something out of him. "They say here that all depends on the advocate," she began. "A petition should be handed in, only they say it's expensive."
"Yes, most certainly," said Nekhludoff. "I have already spoken to an advocate."
"No money ought to be spared; it should be a good one," she said.
"I shall do all that is possible."
They were silent, and then she smiled again in the same way.
"And I should like to ask you . . . a little money if you can . . . not much; ten roubles, I do not want more," she said, suddenly.