Nekhludoff took all these things to a wooden bench, on which a soldier with a book in his hand sat waiting for something, took the seat by his side, and began sorting the letters.  Among them was one registered letter in a fine envelope, with a distinctly stamped bright red seal.  He broke the seal, and seeing a letter from Selenin and some official paper inside the envelope, he felt the blood rush to his face, and his heart stood still.  It was the answer to Katusha’s petition.  What would that answer be?  Nekhludoff glanced hurriedly through the letter, written in an illegibly small, hard, and cramped hand, and breathed a sigh of relief.  The answer was a favourable one.

“Dear friend,” wrote Selenin, “our last talk has made a profound impression on me.  You were right concerning Maslova.  I looked carefully through the case, and see that shocking injustice has been done her.  It could be remedied only by the Committee of Petitions before which you laid it.  I managed to assist at the examination of the case, and I enclose herewith the copy of the mitigation of the sentence.  Your aunt, the Countess Katerina Ivanovna, gave me the address which I am sending this to.  The original document has been sent to the place where she was imprisoned before her trial, and will from there he probably sent at once to the principal Government office in Siberia.  I hasten to communicate this glad news to you and warmly press your hand.

“Yours,

“SELENIN.”

The document ran thus:  “His Majesty’s office for the reception of petitions, addressed to his Imperial name”—­here followed the date——­“by order of the chief of his Majesty’s office for the reception of petitions addressed to his Imperial name.  The meschanka Katerina Maslova is hereby informed that his Imperial Majesty, with reference to her most loyal petition, condescending to her request, deigns to order that her sentence to hard labour should be commuted to one of exile to the less distant districts of Siberia.”

This was joyful and important news; all that Nekhludoff could have hoped for Katusha, and for himself also, had happened.  It was true that the new position she was in brought new complications with it.  While she was a convict, marriage with her could only be fictitious, and would have had no meaning except that he would have been in a position to alleviate her condition.  And now there was nothing to prevent their living together, and Nekhludoff had not prepared himself for that.  And, besides, what of her relations to Simonson?  What was the meaning of her words yesterday?  If she consented to a union with Simonson, would it be well?  He could not unravel all these questions, and gave up thinking about it.  “It will all clear itself up later on,” he thought; “I must not think about it now, but convey the glad news to her as soon as possible, and set her free.”  He thought that the copy of the document he had received would suffice, so when he left the post-office he told the isvostchik to drive him to the prison.