"Listen to that wanton," said Korableva, calling Maslova's attention
to the strange sounds that came from the other end of the cell.

These sounds were the suppressed sobbing of the red-haired woman. She
wept because she had just been abused, beaten, and got no wine, for
which she so yearned. She also wept because her whole life was one
round of abuse, scorn, insults and blows. She meant to draw some
consolation from the recollection of her first love for the factory
hand, Fedka Molodenkoff, but, recalling this first love, she also
recalled the manner of its ending. The end of it was that this
Molodenkoff, while in his cups, by way of jest, smeared her face with
vitriol, and afterward laughed with his comrades as he watched her
writhing in pain. She remembered this, and she pitied herself; and,
thinking that no one heard her, she began to weep, and wept like a
child--moaning, snuffling and swallowing salty tears.




CHAPTER XXXIII.


Nekhludoff rose the following morning with a consciousness that some
change had taken place within him, and before he could recall what it
was he already knew that it was good and important.

"Katiousha--the trial. Yes, and I must stop lying, and tell all the
truth." And what a remarkable coincidence! That very morning finally
came the long-expected letter of Maria Vasilievna, the wife of the