"All right," she said, and, taking the little hand of the boy into her
own white hand, she returned to the consumptive's mother.

"Whose boy is that?" Nekhludoff asked the inspector.

"He is the son of a political prisoner, and was born in prison."

"Is it possible?"

"Yes, and now he is following his mother to Siberia."

"And that girl?"

"I cannot answer it," said the inspector, shrugging his shoulders.
"Ah, there is Bogodukhovskaia."




CHAPTER LIII.


The short-haired, lean, yellow-faced Vera Efremovna, with her large,
kindly eyes, entered timidly through the rear door.

"Well, I thank you for coming here," she said, pressing Nekhludoff's
hand. "You remember me? Let us sit down."

"I did not expect to find you here."