"Maslova, you are wanted," shouted the matron.
Maslova turned round, raised her head, and with the familiar expression of submissiveness, came to the net. She did not recognize Nekhludoff, and gazed at him in surprise. However, judging by his dress that he was a rich man, she smiled.
"What are you?" she asked, pressing her smiling face with squinting eyes against the net.
"I wish to see—" He did not know whether to use the respectful "you" or the endearing "thou," and decided on the former. He spoke no louder than usual. "I wish to see you—I——"
"Don't give me any of your song and dance——" the tramp beside him shouted. "Did you take it, or did you not?"
"She is dying; she is very weak," some one shouted on the other side.
Maslova could not hear Nekhludoff, but the expression of his face, as she spoke, suddenly reminded her of that which she did not wish to think of. The smile disappeared from her face, and a wrinkle on her brow evidenced her suffering.
"I cannot hear what you are saying," she shouted, blinking and still more knitting her brows.
"I came——"
"Yes, I am doing my duty; I am repenting," thought Nekhludoff, and immediately tears filled his eyes, and he felt a choking sensation in his throat. His fingers clutched at the net and he made efforts to keep from sobbing.