Nekhludoff thought he saw Maslova smile here, and this seemed
disgusting to him. A strange, indefinite feeling of loathing,
mingled with suffering, arose in him.
"And what was your opinion of Maslova?" asked the blushing and
confused applicant for a judicial post, appointed to act as
Maslova's advocate.
"Zee ferry pesht," answered Kitaeva. "Zee yoong voman is etucated
and elecant. She was prought up in a coot family and can reat
French. She tid have a trop too moch sometimes, put nefer forcot
herself. A ferry coot girl."
Katusha looked at the woman, then suddenly turned her eyes on the
jury and fixed them on Nekhludoff, and her face grew serious and
even severe. One of her serious eyes squinted, and those two
strange eyes for some time gazed at Nekhludoff, who, in spite of
the terrors that seized him, could not take his look off these
squinting eyes, with their bright, clear whites.
He thought of that dreadful night, with its mist, the ice
breaking on the river below, and when the waning moon, with horns
turned upwards, that had risen towards morning, lit up something
black and weird. These two black eyes now looking at him reminded
him of this weird, black something. "She has recognised me," he
thought, and Nekhludoff shrank as if expecting a blow. But she
had not recognised him. She sighed quietly and again looked at
the president. Nekhludoff also sighed. "Oh, if it would only get
on quicker," he thought.
He now felt the same loathing and pity and vexation as when, out
shooting, he was obliged to kill a wounded bird. The wounded bird
struggles in the game bag. One is disgusted and yet feels pity,
and one is in a hurry to kill the bird and forget it.
Such mixed feelings filled Nekhludoff's breast as he sat
listening to the examination of the witnesses.