"Why should I be calm?" she began, quickly, flushing scarlet. "I am a convict, and you are a gentleman and a prince. There's no need for you to soil yourself by touching me. You go to your princesses; my price is a ten-rouble note."
"However cruelly you may speak, you cannot express what I myself am feeling," he said, trembling all over; "you cannot imagine to what extent I feel myself guilty towards you.
"Feel yourself guilty?" she said, angrily mimicking him. "You did not feel so then, but threw me 100 roubles. That's your price."
"I know, I know; but what is to be done now?" said Nekhludoff. "I have decided not to leave you, and what I have said I shall do."
"And I say you sha'n't," she said, and laughed aloud.
"Katusha" he said, touching her hand.
"You go away. I am a convict and you a prince, and you've no business here," she cried, pulling away her hand, her whole appearance transformed by her wrath. "You've got pleasure out of me in this life, and want to save yourself through me in the life to come. You are disgusting to me--your spectacles and the whole of your dirty fat mug. Go, go!" she screamed, starting to her feet.
The jailer came up to them.
"What are you kicking up this row for?' That won't--"
"Let her alone, please," said Nekhludoff.
"She must not forget herself," said the jailer. "Please wait a little," said Nekhludoff, and the jailer returned to the window.
Maslova sat down again, dropping her eyes and firmly clasping her small hands.
Nekhludoff stooped over her, not knowing what to do.
"You do not believe me?" he said.
"That you mean to marry me? It will never be. I'll rather hang myself. So there!"
"Well, still I shall go on serving you."