the misty river some incessant, slow work was going on. Now something
snuffled, then it crackled, and again the thin layer of ice resounded
like a mass of crushed glass.

He stood looking at the thoughtful face of Katiousha, tormented by an
internal struggle, and he pitied her. But, strange to say, this pity
only increased his longing for her.

He rapped at the window. She trembled from head to foot, as if an
electric current had passed through her, and terror was reflected on
her face. Then she sprang up, and, going to the window, placed her
face against the window-pane. The expression of terror did not leave
her even when, shading her eyes with the palms of her hands, she
recognized him. Her face was unusually grave--he had never seen such
an expression on it. When he smiled she smiled also--she smiled as if
only in submission to him, but in her soul, instead of a smile, there
was terror. He motioned her with his hand to come out. But she shook
her head and remained at the window. Again he leaned toward the window
and was about to speak when she turned toward the door. Some one had
apparently called her. Nekhludoff moved away from the window. The fog
was so dense that when five feet away he saw only a darkening mass
from which a red, seemingly large, light of the lamp was reflected.
From the river came the same strange sounds of snuffling, crackling
and grinding of the ice. In the court-yard a cock crowed, others near
by responded; then from the village, first singly, interrupting each
other, then mingling into one chorus, was heard the crowing of all the
cocks. Except for the noise of the river, it was perfectly quiet all
around.

After walking twice around the corner of the house, and stepping