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.
Nekhlúdoff 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 Korchágin, with his thick lips, apoplectic neck, and a travelling cap on his head; behind him Missy, her cousin Mísha, and an acquaintance of Nekhlúdoff’s—the long-necked diplomat Ósten, 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 Korchágins were moving from their estate near the city to the estate of the Princess’s sister on the Níjni 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 Ósten 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 Rogózhinsky. Nathalie came into the refreshment-room accompanied by Agraphéna Petróvna, 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.
“At last I have found you,” she said. Nekhlúdoff rose to greet Missy, Mísha, and Ósten, and to say a few words to them. Missy told him about their house in the country having been burnt down, which necessitated their moving to her aunt’s. Ósten began relating a funny story about a fire. Nekhlúdoff paid no attention, and turned to his sister.
“How glad I am that you have come.”
“I have been here a long time,” she said. “Agraphéna Petróvna is with me.” And she pointed to Agraphéna Petróvna, who, in a waterproof and with a bonnet on her head, stood some way off, and bowed to him with kindly dignity and some confusion, not wishing to intrude.
“We looked for you everywhere.”
“And I had fallen asleep here. How glad I am that you have come,” repeated Nekhlúdoff. “I had begun to write to you.”
“Really?” she said, looking frightened. “What about?”
Missy and the gentleman, noticing that an intimate conversation was about to commence between the brother and sister, went away. Nekhlúdoff and his sister sat down by the window on a velvet-covered sofa, on which lay a plaid, a box, and a few other things.
“Yesterday, after I left you, I felt inclined to return and express my regret, but I did not know how he would take it,” said Nekhlúdoff. “I spoke hastily to your husband, and this tormented me.”
“I knew,” said his sister, “that you did not mean to. Oh, you know!” and the tears came to her eyes, and she touched his hand. The sentence was not clear, but he understood it perfectly, and was touched by what it expressed. Her words meant that, besides the love for her husband which held her in its sway, she prized and considered important the love she had for him, her brother, and that every misunderstanding between them caused her deep suffering.
“Thank you, thank you. Oh! what I have seen today!” he said, suddenly recalling the second of the dead convicts. “Two prisoners have been done to death.”
“Done to death? How?”
“Yes, done to death. They led them in this heat, and two died of sunstroke.”
“Impossible! What, today? just now?”
“Yes, just now. I have seen their bodies.”
“But why done to death? Who killed them?” asked Nathalie.
“They who forced them to go killed them,” said Nekhlúdoff, with irritation, feeling that she looked at this, too, with her husband’s eyes.
“Oh, Lord!” said Agraphéna Petróvna, who had come up to them.
“Yes, we have not the slightest idea of what is being done to these unfortunate beings. But it ought to be known,” added Nekhlúdoff, and looked at old Korchágin, who sat with a napkin tied round him and a bottle before him, and who looked round at Nekhlúdoff.
“Nekhlúdoff,” he called out, “won’t you join me and take some refreshment? It is excellent before a journey.”
Nekhlúdoff refused, and turned away.
“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 Korchágin. “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 Nekhlúdoff, 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 Agraphéna Petróvna 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 Katúsha? Well, you see, I made up my mind to do it, but she refuses definitely
