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In this room, which was called the meeting-room, Nekhludoff was startled by the sight of a large picture of the Crucifixion. "What's that for?" he thought, his mind involuntarily connecting the subject of the picture with liberation and not with imprisonment.
"Well, how is Ignatius Nikiforovitch?" asked Nekhludoff. "He is resting. He has not slept all night." A great deal should have been said here, but their words said nothing, and their glances said that that which interested them most was left unsaid. "I have been at your lodging." "Yes, I know it. I have moved from the house. I am so lonely and weary.
The steward's arguments that if the land were let to the peasants the agricultural implements would fetch next to nothing, as it would be impossible to get even a quarter of their value for them, and that the peasants would spoil the land, and how great a loser Nekhludoff would be, only strengthened Nekhludoff in the opinion that he was doing a good action in letting the land to the peasants and thus depriving himself of a large part of his income.
Having inquired where the prosecutor's room was, he directed his steps toward that dignitary. The messenger would not admit him, declaring that the prosecutor was busy, but Nekhludoff brushed past him and asked an officer who met him to announce him to the prosecutor, saying that he was on important business. His title and dress helped Nekhludoff. The officer announced him, and he was admitted.
Nekhludoff had came here for recreation, and it was always pleasant to him to be in this house, not only because of the elegant luxury, which acted pleasantly on his senses, but because of the adulating kindnesses with which they invisibly surrounded him.
"This is really too terrible," Nekhludoff said. "Can it be true?" "What are you surprised at?" "Why, everything. I can understand the police-officer, who simply obeys orders, but the prosecutor drawing up an act of that kind. An educated man . . ."
This officer's red face, his scents, his rings, and especially his unpleasant laughter disgusted Nekhludoff very much, but to-day, as during the whole of his journey, he was in that serious, attentive state which did not allow him to behave slightingly or disdainfully towards any man, but made him feel the necessity of speaking to every one "entirely," as he expressed to himself, this relation to men.
"Well, and this Matrona, is she also poor?" Nekhludoff asked, as they came up to Matrona's house. "She poor? No. Why, she sells spirits," the thin, pink little boy answered decidedly. When they reached the house Nekhludoff left the boys outside and went through the passage into the hut. The hut was 14 feet long.
At the very door stood a young man in a rubber jacket, evidently more concerned about the impression he was making on the visitors than what he was saying. Nekhludoff sat down beside the inspector and looked around him with intense curiosity. He was amused by a short-haired boy coming near him and asking him in a shrill voice: "And whom are you waiting for?"
"I should like to be allowed to visit a prisoner," said Nekhludoff, without sitting down. "A political one? That's forbidden by the law," said the officer. "The woman I mean is not a political prisoner," said Nekhludoff. "Yes. But pray take a scat," said the officer. Nekhludoff sat down.
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