Bertha, who visited her in prison, told her that the student, whom she
loved while she was an inmate at Kitaeva's, inquired about her and
expressed his regrets when told of her condition. She recalled the
fight with the red-haired woman, and pitied her. She called to mind
the baker who sent her an extra lunch roll, and many others, but not
Nekhludoff. Of her childhood and youth, and especially of her love for
Nekhludoff, she never thought. That was too painful. These
recollections were hidden deeply in her soul. She never saw Nekhludoff
even in a dream. She failed to recognize him in court, not so much
because when she last saw him he was an army officer, beardless, with
small mustache and thick, short hair, while now he was no longer young
in appearance, and wore a beard, but more because she never thought of
him. She had buried all recollections of her past relations with him
in that terrible dark night when, on his return from the army, he
visited his aunts.

Up to that night, while she hoped for his return, the child which she
bore under her heart was not irksome to her. But from that night
forward everything changed, and the coming child was only a hindrance.

The aunts had asked Nekhludoff to stop off at their station and call
on them, but he wired that he would not be able to do it, as he had to
reach St. Petersburg in time. When Katiousha learned this, she decided
to go to the railroad station to see him. The train was to pass at two
o'clock in the morning. Katiousha helped the ladies to bed, and,
having induced the cook's girl, Mashka, to accompany her, she put on
an old pair of shoes, threw a shawl over her head, gathered up her
skirts and ran to the station.

It was a dark, rainy, windy, autumn night. The rain now poured down in