hands, her white, full neck, showing from under the large collar of the coat, were of a similar hue.  On the dull pallor of that face the most striking feature was the black, sparkling eyes, somewhat swollen, but very bright eyes, one of which slightly squinted.  She held herself erect, putting forth her full chest.  Emerging into the corridor, throwing her head back a little, she looked into the eyes of the warden and stood ready to do his bidding.  The warden was about to shut the door, when a pale, severe, wrinkled face of an old woman with disheveled hair was thrust out.  The old woman began to say something to Maslova.  But the warden pressed the door against the head of the woman, and she disappeared.  In the cell a woman’s voice burst into laughter.  Maslova also smiled, and turned to the grated little opening in the door.  The old woman pressed her forehead to the grating, and said in a hoarse voice: 

“Above all, don’t speak too much; stick to one thing, and that is all.”

“Of course.  It cannot be any worse,” said Maslova.

“You certainly cannot stick to two things,” said the chief warden, with official assurance of his own wit.  “Follow me, now!  Forward!  March!”

The eye looking from behind the grating disappeared, and Maslova took to the middle of the corridor, and with short, but rapid strides, followed the warden.  They descended the stone stairway, and as they passed the men’s ward, noisy and more noisome even than the woman’s ward, scores of eyes followed them from behind the gratings.  They entered the office, where an armed escort of two soldiers stood.  The clerk handed one of the soldiers a document, reeking of tobacco smoke, and, pointing to the prisoner, said: 

“Take her.”

The soldier, a Nijhni peasant with a red and pock-marked face, placed the paper into the cuff of his coat sleeve, and, smiling, winked to his muscular comrade.  The soldiers and prisoner descended the stairs and went in the direction of the main entrance.

A small door in the gate opened, and, crossing the threshold, they passed through the inclosure and took the middle of the paved street.

Drivers, shop-keepers, kitchen maids, laborers and officials halted and gazed with curiosity at the prisoner.  Some shook their heads and thought:  “There is the result of evil conduct—­how unlike ours!” Children looked with horror at the cut-throat, but the presence of the soldiers reassured them, for she was now powerless to do harm.  A villager, returning from the mart, where he had disposed of his charcoal and visited an inn, offered her a kopeck.  The prisoner blushed, drooped her head and murmured something.

Conscious of the attention that was shown her, without turning her head she looked askance at the onlookers and rather enjoyed it.  She also enjoyed the comparatively pure spring air, but the walking on the cobblestones was painful to her feet, unused as they were to walking, and shod in clumsy prison shoes.  She looked at her feet and endeavored to step as lightly as possible.  Passing by a food store, in front of which some pigeons were picking grain, she came near striking with her foot a dove-colored bird.  It rose with a flutter of its wings, and flew past the very ear of the prisoner, fanning her face with its wings.  She smiled, then sighed deeply, remembering her own condition.