“Yes, and to marry her if she wishes it.”
“Dear me! But if you do not object I should like to ask you to explain your motives. I do not understand them.”
“My motives are that this woman—that this woman’s first step on her way to degradation—” Nekhludoff got angry with himself, and was unable to find the right expression. “My motives are that I am the guilty one, and she gets the punishment.”
“If she is being punished she cannot be innocent, either.”
“She is quite innocent.” And Nekhludoff related the whole incident with unnecessary warmth.
“Yes, that was a case of carelessness on the part of the president, the result of which was a thoughtless answer on the part of the jury; but there is the Senate for cases like that.”
“The Senate has rejected the appeal.”
“Well, if the Senate has rejected it, there cannot have been sufficient reasons for an appeal,” said Rogozhinsky, evidently sharing the prevailing opinion that truth is the product of judicial decrees. “The Senate cannot enter into the question on its merits. If there is a real mistake, the Emperor should be petitioned.”
“That has been done, but there is no probability of success. They will apply to the Department of the Ministry, the Department will consult the Senate, the Senate will repeat its decision, and, as usual, the innocent will get punished.”
“In the first place, the Department of the Ministry won’t consult the Senate,” said Rogozhinsky, with a condescending smile; “it will give orders for the original deeds to be sent from the Law Court, and if it discovers a mistake it will decide accordingly. And, secondly, the innocent are never punished, or at least in very rare, exceptional cases. It is the guilty who are punished,” Rogozhinsky said deliberately, and smiled self-complacently.