When he returned from church Nekhludoff broke the fast with his
aunts and took a glass of spirits and some wine, having got into
that habit while with his regiment, and when he reached his room
fell asleep at once, dressed as he was. He was awakened by a
knock at the door. He knew it was her knock, and got up, rubbing
his eyes and stretching himself.
"Katusha, is it you? Come in," said he.
She opened the door.
"Dinner is ready," she said. She still had on the same white
dress, but not the bow in her hair. She looked at him with a
smile, as if she had communicated some very good news to him.
"I am coming," he answered, as he rose, taking his comb to
arrange his hair.
She stood still for a minute, and he, noticing it, threw down his
comb and made a step towards her, but at that very moment she
turned suddenly and went with quick light steps along the strip
of carpet in the middle of the passage.
"Dear me, what a fool I am," thought Nekhludoff. "Why did I not
stop her?" What he wanted her for he did not know himself, but he
felt that when she came into his room something should have been
done, something that is generally done on such occasions, and
that he had left it undone.
"Katusha, wait," he said.
"What do you want?" she said, stopping.
"Nothing, only--" and, with an effort, remembering how men in his
position generally behave, he put his arm round her waist.
She stood still and looked into his eyes.
"Don't, Dmitri Ivanovitch, you must not," she said, blushing to
tears and pushing away his arm with her strong hard hand.
Nekhludoff let her go, and for a moment he felt not only confused
and ashamed but disgusted with himself. He should now have
believed himself, and then he would have known that this
confusion and shame were caused by the best feelings of his soul
demanding to be set free; but he thought it was only his
stupidity and that he ought to behave as every one else did. He
caught her up and kissed her on the neck.
This kiss was very different from that first thoughtless kiss
behind the lilac bush, and very different to the kiss this
morning in the churchyard. This was a dreadful kiss, and she felt
it.
"Oh, what are you doing?" she cried, in a tone as if he had
irreparably broken something of priceless value, and ran quickly
away.
He came into the dining-room. His aunts, elegantly dressed, their
family doctor, and a neighbour were already there. Everything
seemed so very ordinary, but in Nekhludoff a storm was raging. He
understood nothing of what was being said and gave wrong answers,
thinking only of Katusha. The sound of her steps in the passage
brought back the thrill of that last kiss and he could think of
nothing else. When she came into the room he, without looking
round, felt her presence with his whole being and had to force
himself not to look at her.