After dinner he at once went into his bedroom and for a long time
walked up and down in great excitement, listening to every sound
in the house and expecting to hear her steps. The animal man
inside him had now not only lifted its head, but had succeeded in
trampling under foot the spiritual man of the days of his first
visit, and even of that every morning. That dreadful animal man
alone now ruled over him.
Though he was watching for her all day he could not manage to
meet her alone. She was probably trying to evade him. In the
evening, however, she was obliged to go into the room next to
his. The doctor had been asked to stay the night, and she had to
make his bed. When he heard her go in Nekhludoff followed her,
treading softly and holding his breath as if he were going to
commit a crime.
She was putting a clean pillow-case on the pillow, holding it by
two of its corners with her arms inside the pillow-case. She
turned round and smiled, not a happy, joyful smile as before, but
in a frightened, piteous way. The smile seemed to tell him that
what he was doing was wrong. He stopped for a moment. There was
still the possibility of a struggle. The voice of his real love
for her, though feebly, was still speaking of her, her feelings,
her life. Another voice was saying, "Take care I don't let the
opportunity for your own happiness, your own enjoyment, slip by!"
And this second voice completely stifled the first. He went up to
her with determination and a terrible, ungovernable animal
passion took possession of him.
With his arm round he made her sit down on the bed; and feeling
that there was something more to be done he sat down beside her.
"Dmitri Ivanovitch, dear! please let me go," she said, with a
piteous voice. "Matrona Pavlovna is coming," she cried, tearing
herself away. Some one was really coming to the door.
"Well, then, I'll come to you in the night," he whispered.
"You'll be alone?"
"What are you thinking of? On no account. No, no!" she said, but
only with her lips; the tremulous confusion of her whole being
said something very different.
It was Matrona Pavlovna who had come to the door. She came in
with a blanket over her arm, looked reproachfully at Nekhludoff,
and began scolding Katusha for having taken the wrong blanket.
Nekhludoff went out in silence, but he did not even feel ashamed.
He could see by Matrona Pavlovna's face that she was blaming him,
he knew that she was blaming him with reason and felt that he was
doing wrong, but this novel, low animal excitement, having freed
itself of all the old feelings of real love for Katusha, ruled
supreme, leaving room for nothing else. He went about as if
demented all the evening, now into his aunts', then back into his
own room, then out into the porch, thinking all the time how he
could meet her alone; but she avoided him, and Matrona Pavlovna
watched her closely.