“The causes for appeal may be insufficient,” said Nekhludoff, “but I think the case will show that the sentence was passed owing to a misunderstanding.”
“Yes, yes; it may be so, but the Senate cannot decide the case on its merits,” said Wolf, looking seriously at the ash of his cigar. “The Senate only considers the exactness of the application of the laws and their right interpretation.”
“But this seems to me to be an exceptional case.”
“I know, I know! All cases are exceptional. We shall do our duty. That’s all.” The ash was still holding on, but had began breaking, and was in danger of falling.
“Do you often come to Petersburg?” said Wolf, holding his cigar so that the ash should not fall. But the ash began to shake, and Wolf carefully carried it to the ashpan, into which it fell.
“What a terrible thing this is with regard to Kaminski,” he said. “A splendid young man. The only son. Especially the mother’s position,” he went on, repeating almost word for word what every one in Petersburg was at that time saying about Kaminski. Wolf spoke a little about the Countess Katerina Ivanovna and her enthusiasm for the new religious teaching, which he neither approved nor disapproved of, but which was evidently needless to him who was so comme il faut, and then rang the bell.
Nekhludoff bowed.
“If it is convenient, come and dine on Wednesday, and I will give you a decisive answer,” said Wolf, extending his hand.
It was late, and Nekhludoff returned to his aunt’s.