“Well?”

“We have condemned a woman, and I should like to appeal to a higher court.”

“To the Senate, you mean,” said Fanarin, correcting him.

“Yes, and I should like to ask you to take the case in hand.”  Nekhludoff wanted to get the most difficult part over, and added, “I shall take the costs of the case on myself, whatever they may be.”

“Oh, we shall settle all that,” said the advocate, smiling with condescension at Nekhludoff’s inexperience in these matters.  “What is the case?”

Nekhludoff stated what had happened.

“All right.  I shall look the case through to-morrow or the day after—­no—­better on Thursday.  If you will come to me at six o’clock I will give you an answer.  Well, and now let us go; I have to make a few inquiries here.”

Nekhludoff took leave of him and went out.  This talk with the advocate, and the fact that he had taken measures for Maslova’s defence, quieted him still further.  He went out into the street.  The weather was beautiful, and he joyfully drew in a long breath of spring air.  He was at once surrounded by isvostchiks offering their services, but he went on foot.  A whole swarm of pictures and memories of Katusha and his conduct to her began whirling in his brain, and he felt depressed and everything appeared gloomy.  “No, I shall consider all this later on; I must now get rid of all these disagreeable impressions,” he thought to himself.

He remembered the Korchagin’s dinner and looked at his watch.  It was not yet too late to get there in time.  He heard the ring of a passing tramcar, ran to catch it, and jumped on.  He jumped off again when they got to the market-place, took a good isvostchik, and ten minutes later was at the entrance of the Korchagins’ big house.

CHAPTER XXVI.

The house of Korchagin.

“Please to walk in, your excellency,” said the friendly, fat doorkeeper of the Korchagins’ big house, opening the door, which moved noiselessly on its patent English hinges; “you are expected.  They are at dinner.  My orders were to admit only you.”  The doorkeeper went as far as the staircase and rang.

“Are there any strangers?” asked Nekhludoff, taking off his overcoat.

“Mr. Kolosoff and Michael Sergeivitch only, besides the family.”

A very handsome footman with whiskers, in a swallow-tail coat and white gloves, looked down from the landing.

“Please to walk up, your excellency,” he said.  “You are expected.”