Once only, when, after the war, he went to see his aunts in hopes
of meeting Katusha, and heard that soon after his last visit she
had left, and that his aunts had heard she had been confined
somewhere or other and had gone quite to the bad, his heart
ached. According to the time of her confinement, the child might
or might not have been his. His aunts said she had gone wrong,
that she had inherited her mother's depraved nature, and he was
pleased to hear this opinion of his aunts'. It seemed to acquit
him. At first he thought of trying to find her and her child, but
then, just because in the depths of his soul he felt so ashamed
and pained when thinking about her, he did not make the necessary
effort to find her, but tried to forget his sin again and ceased
to think about it. And now this strange coincidence brought it
all back to his memory, and demanded from him the acknowledgment
of the heartless, cruel cowardice which had made it possible for
him to live these nine years with such a sin on his conscience.
But he was still far from such an acknowledgment, and his only
fear was that everything might now be found out, and that she or
her advocate might recount it all and put him to shame before
every one present.