“I have seen once a peasant flogged in the town hall.  My father-in-law had sent me to the Mayor of the borough, and when I came there I was surprised to see him——­” The watch-woman began a long story.

Her story was interrupted by voices and steps on the upper corridor.

The women became silent, listening.

“They are bringing him, the fiends,” said Miss Dandy.  “Won’t he get it now!  The jailers are very angry, for he gave them no rest.”

It became quiet in the upper corridor, and the watch-woman finished her story, how she was frightened when she saw the peasant flogged, and how it turned her stomach.  Miss Dandy told how Schezloff was flogged with a lash while he never uttered a word.  Theodosia then removed the pots and bowls; Korableva and the watch-woman took to their sewing, while Maslova, hugging her knees, became sad from ennui.  She was about to lay down to sleep when the matron called her into the office, where a visitor was waiting for her.

“Don’t fail to tell him about us,” said the old Menshova, while Maslova was arranging her headgear before a looking-glass half void of mercury.  “It was not me who set the fire, but he, the villain, himself did it, and the laborer saw it.  He would not kill a man.  Tell him to call Dmitry.  Dmitry will explain to him everything.  They locked us up here for nothing, while the villain is living with another man’s wife and sits around in dram-shops.”

“That’s wrong!” affirmed Korableva.

“I will tell him—­yes, I will,” answered Maslova.  “Suppose we have a drink, for courage?” she added, winking one eye.

Korableva poured out half a cup for her.  Maslova drank it and wiped her mouth.  Her spirits rose, and repeating the words “for courage,” shaking her head and smiling, she followed the matron.

CHAPTER XLV.

Nekhludoff had been waiting for a long time in the vestibule.

Arriving at the prison he rang the front-door bell and handed his pass to the warden on duty.

“What do you want?”

“I wish to see the prisoner Maslova.”

“Can’t see her now; the inspector is busy.”

“In the office?” asked Nekhludoff.

“No, here in the visitors’ room,” the warden answered, somewhat embarrassed, as it seemed to Nekhludoff.

“Why, are visitors admitted to-day?”

“No—­special business,” he answered.

“Where can I see him, then?”

“He will come out presently.  Wait.”

At that moment a sergeant-major in bright crown-laced uniform, his face radiant, and his mustache impregnated with smoke, appeared from a side door.

“Why did you admit him here?  What is the office for?” he said sternly, turning to the warden.

“I was told that the inspector was here,” said Nekhludoff, surprised at the embarrassment noticeable on the officer’s face.